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Publishers^ Advertisement* 

Attention is called to the following statement 
bv the Author of this work: 



''Fanny Crosby's Life- 
Story^-' is published and sold 
for my benefit, and I hope 
by its means to be a wel- 
come guest in many homes. 




It is sincerely hoped by the publishers, that 
this book may have as large a sale as possible, in 
Older that the story of its loved author may be 
an inspiration to many people, and that she may 
be enabled to have a home of her own, in which 
to pass the remainder of her days. 

This book is sent free of postage, for one 
dollar. 

Agents wanted in every church and vicini- 
ty, to whom liberal commissions will be paid. 
In sending for book, state if you wish also terms 
to agents. Address: 

EVERY WHERE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
(Brooklyn Borough) 

New York City. 




AT TWENTY-FIVE. 



FANNY CROSBY'S 



LIFE - STORY 



BY HERSELF 






NEW YORK: 

EVERY WHERE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1903 



7531 



THE LIBRARY OF j 
CONGRESS, 

Tvvo Copies Received 

JUN in 1903 

\ Copyright Entry 
*LASS it XXc No 

(o •! y s 

COPY B. 



e » e ♦ • 






« c r « « ' 



Copyright, 1903, 

BY 

EVERY WHERE PUBLISHING COMPANY 



DEDICATED 

TO ALL MY FRIENDS 

IN BOTH WORLDS 



INTRODUCTION: BY WILL 
CARLETON. 

All over this country, and, one might say, the 
world, Fanny Crosby's hymns are singing themselves 
into the hearts and souls of the people. They have 
been doing this for many years, and will do so as 
long as our civilization lasts. There are to-day 
used in religious meetings, more of her inspired 
lines, than of any other poet, living or dead. Not 
only those hymns with which she is credited in the 
singing-books, but thousands of others, have come 
from her heart and mind; for she has written, not 
only under her own name, but several nom-de- 
plumes. Her sacred lyrics have been translated 
into several languages. She is easily the greatest 
living writer of hymns, and will always occupy a 
high place among authors. 

But what of Fanny Crosby the woman? Is her 
personality as sweet and inspiring as her poems? 
Has her life been an exemplification and illustration 
of them? 

From those of us that know her well, such ques- 
tions would elicit a smile. Whoever has had oppor- 
tunity of witnessing her patience, her sweetness 
of thought and life, her bright winsomeness and her 
all-around and all-through goodness, would not even 
take the trouble to answer in the affirmative; he 
would say, "There she is; there is her life; let them 
speak for themselves." 

But compared to the thousands that have sung 
her inspiring hymns and partaken of her gentle 
spirit, few, of course, can have the opportunity of 
knowing her personally; and it is natural that all 
should wish to learn as much about her as possible. 



Introduction. 

In this book is an account of her life, told by her- 
self, and as she only could tell it. There are several 
of her newest hymns; a few of the many tributes that 
she has received; and the latest portrait of her, 
taken expressly for this book Every copy of the 
work that is sold, adds substantially and immediately 
to the comfort of this grand woman, who has been 
singing in such far-reaching tones, the praise of her 
God and her Christ, for sixty years. 

The response will, no doubt, be such as to con- 
vince our dear Fanny Crosby that she occupies a 
warm place in the hearts of the people, and that 
she is sure of their love, their honor, and their 
practical appreciation. 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I.— 1820-1825. 

INFANCY BLINDED AT SIX WEEKS OP AGE AM 

THANKFUL FOR IT NOW PARENTS AND RELA- 
TIVES LONELY AMUSEMENTS ASKING GOD 

FOR A CHANCE IN THE WORLD HIS ANSWER 

THE BELLIGERENT LAMB DANIEL DREW's 

ATTEMPTED PRESENT OF " STOCK." . . 13 

CHAPTER II.— 1825. 

A SLOOP JOURNEY DOWN THE HUDSON ACTING 

AS captain's FIRST MATE A PATRIOTIC SONG 

DRS. MOTT AND DELAFIELD GIVE ADVERSE DE- 
CISION BLIND FOR LIFE THE SAD JOURNEY 

HOME WHA.T THE WAVES SAID. . . . 20 

CHAPTER III.— 1830. 

BIBLE-INSTRUCTION MY FIRST POEM MY FIRST 

LITERARY ADMIRER HIS INABILITY TO CON- 
CEAL HIS SENTIMENTS A TERRIBLE THIRST 

FOR KNOWLEDGE A PLEA FOR MENTAL LIGHT 

god's GOODNESS IN ANSWERING PRAYER. , 26 

CHAPTER IV.— 1835. 

A THRILLING ANNOUNCEMENT AN EDUCATION AT 

last! ON THE "tiptoe OF EXPECTATION" 

STARTING FOR SCHOOL ARRIVAL AT THE INSTI- 
TUTION FOR THE BLIND A HELPER OF OP- 
PRESSED GREEKS AN ACQUAINTANCE OF LORD 

BYRON SCHOOL-LIFE STARTS OFF WELL. . 30 

vii 



Contents. 

PAGE. 

CHAPTER v.— 1835-1836. 

SCHOOL-LIFE THE MONSTER ARITHMETIC AND ITS 

TERRORS METAL SLATES IN LOVE WITH 

OTHER STUDIES " DROP INTO POETRY " NOW 

AND THEN TEMPTATIONS TO VANITY A BENE- 
FICIAL "call-down" from the SUPERINTEND- 
ENT ALL FOR MY OWN GOOD. . . ' SZ 

CHAPTER VI.— 1835-1858. 

INCITEMENTS TO AMBITION GREAT PEOPLE WHO 

WERE BLIND THE IMMORTAL HOMER THE 

KING-POET OSSIAN JOHN MILTON AND HIS 

GENIUS FRANCIS HUBER, THE NATURALIST 

OTHERS WHOSE CAREERS GAVE US ENCOUR- 
AGEMENT. . . ..... 39 

CHAPTER VII.— 1835-1858. 

VACATIONS PUPILS WHO ENJOY AND PUPILS WHO 

DO NOT ENJOY THEM AWAITED EACH TIME BY 

MOTHER AND SISTERS CANDY AND FLOWERS 

SAVED UP EXCURSIONS SWEET INQUISITIVE- 

NESS AN ENTHUSIASTIC AUDIENCE SISTERS 

STILL SPARED. . . . . . -42 

CHAPTER VIII.— 1836-1837. 

BLIND STUDENTS, ALSO, HAVE " SPORTIVE " MOODS 

SOCIALS, MUSICALES, AND SOIREES HAZING 

TENDER ATTACHMENTS " INNOCENT" THEFTS 

A WATERMELON ADVENTURE DEAR MR. 

STEVENS' FIFTEEN-MINUTE NAP A GOOD LAUGH 

OVER THE AFFAIR. .... 



CHAPTER IX.— 1836-1842. 



45 



STRENUOUS WORK HOW A BLIND PERSON CAN 

TOIL, INTELLECTUALLY BECOME ONE OP THE 

TEACHERS THE "WITCHING SPRITE" OF 

POETRY FORBIDDEN TO COMPOSE ANY POETRY 

FOR THREE MONTHS PHRENOLOGY TO THE 

RESCUE ! ....... 49 

viii 



Contents. 

PAGE, 

CHAPTER X.— 1842-1843- 

DR. combe's endorsement IS OF BENEFIT THE 

"poet laureate" of the INSTITUTION 

taught how to write poetry hamilton 

Murray's aid — a reunion after sixty-five 
years' absence. . . . . • 53 

CHAPTER XI.— 1842-1845- 

musical diversions for THE BLIND NEIGH- 
BORLY CALLS SOIREES WILLIAM CULLEN BRY- 
ANT VISITS US HIS KINDNESS TO THE GIRL- 
POET TWO VISITS WITH HORACE GREELEY 

SHOWING PEOPLE ABOUT THE INSTITUTION 

HOW THE BLIND " FIND THE WAY TO THEIR 
MOUTHS." ....... 56 

CHAPTER XII.— 1843. 

A TRIP ON THE ''RAGING CANAWL " ITS WONDERS 

AND ITS DELIGHTS THROUGH THE MOHAWK 

VALLEY AND AWAY TOWARD THE LAKES AN 

EXPECTED FUNERAL PROCESSION TURNS INTO 

A "CIRCIS" ENTERTAINMENTS ALL ALONG THE 

WAY MAYORS OF TOWNS PRESIDE BLIND AND 

SEEING PEOPLE COME FROM ALL DIRECTIONS 

BUFFALO AND NIAGARA FALLS ARE REACHED. . 60 

CHAPTER XIII.— 1843. 

NIAGARA FALLS VISITED WHAT THE BLIND STU- 
DENTS "saw" OF IT TABLE ROCK STANDING 

UPON GOAT ISLAND THE POOR OLD ANIMAL 

FOR WHICH IT WAS NAMED STORIES OF THE 

"oldest inhabitants" TELLING ABOUT IT 

TO THOSE WHO "couldn't GO." . . -65 

CHAPTER XIV.— 1 844-1 847- 

OFF TO THE NATIONAL CAPITAL AND CAPITOL 

BEFORE THE SENATE AND HOUSE OF REPRE- 
SENTATIVES MEET AND HEAR JOHN QUINCY 

ADAMS JAMES BUCHANAN ANDREW JOHNSON 

ix 



Contents. 

PAGE. 

STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS WILLIAM L. DAYTON 

JOHN P. HALE RUFUS CHOATE R. H. BAYARD 

ROBERT J. WALKER OTHER FAMOUS MEN IN 

THE AUDIENCE. . . . . . -69 

CHAPTER XV.— 1844-1897. 

COLLECT POEMS AND PUBLISH A BOOK " THE 

BLIND GIRL AND OTHER POEMS " MY "DE- 
CLINING health" DELIVERING A POEM BE- 
FORE THE NEW JERSEY LEGISLATURE ANOTHER 

VOLUME, "MONTEREY AND OTHER POEMS " MY 

"declining years" FIFTY-TWO YEARS AGO 

STILL ANOTHER BOOK, "a WREATH OF COLUM- 
BIA'S flowers" PROSE STORIES " BELLS OF 

EVENING." ....... 75 

CHAPTER XVI.— 1844-1902. 

A NEW CHARGE A PROMISING STUDENT HIS 

CAREER IN SCHOOL MARRIAGE SYMPATHY IN 

PROFESSIONAL WORK CHARACTERISTICS OF 

MY HUSBAND HIS MANY GOOD QUALITIES 

HIS DEATH. . . . . . . .80 

CHAPTER XVII.— 1845. 

THE BLIND NOT SO EASILY DECEIVED WAYS TO 

ASCERTAIN WHAT IS "GOING ON " LOVE- 
MAKING BEFORE THE BLIND NOT ALWAYS SAFE 

WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY OF THE MIND, HEART, 

AND SOUL THE BLIND CHILD FROM NEW JERSEY 

GRIEVES FOR HIS GRANDMOTHER ACTING 

THE PART OF THE GOOD OLD LADY THE LITTLE 

BOY HAPPY. . ...... 83 

CHAPTER XVIII.— 1846-1849. 

A TERRIBLE CLOUD IN THE EAST THE DREAD 

SPECTRE OF CHOLERA IN THE DISTANCE IT 

STARTS FROM INDIA MAKES ITS WAY WEST- 
WARD REACHES NEW YORK AND OTHER 

AMERICAN CITIES VACATION SPENT AMONG THE 

X 



Contents. 

PAGE 

PATIENTS "god WILL TAKE CARE OF US, 

EITHER IN THIS WORLD OR THE NEXT " MAKING 

MEDICINE HAVE THE PREMONITORY SYMP- 
TOMS OF THE DISEASE STUMBLING OVER COF- 
FINS IN THE HALLS END OF THE HORRORS. . 87 

CHAPTER XIX.— 1847- 

ASKED TO WRITE POEMS ON ALL SORTS OF SUBJECTS 

A DIRGE FOR DANIEL WEBSTER BEFORE HE 

WAS DEAD DEATH OF HENRY CLAy's SON 

POEM UPON THE SAME THE GREAT STATESMAN 

VISITS OUR INSTITUTION HIS PATHETIC AC- 
TIONS AND WORDS. . .... 94 

CHAPTER XX.— 1848. 

GENERAL SCOTT VISITS US "a PORTION OF THE 

country's history" HIS POLITENESS AND 

CHIVALRY "war IS HELL" IN A MANNER ANTE- 
DATED CAPTURING GENERAL SCOTT WITH HIS 

OWN SWORD "waiting FOR THE NEXT PRESI- 
DENT" JAMES K. POLK VISITS US HIS AN- 
CESTRY DESERTING HIM TO GREET A SERVANT 

HIS KINDNESS AND CONSIDERATION. . . 99 

CHAPTER XXL— 1848-1850. 

napoleon's faithful MARSHAL, BERTRAND A 

POEM OF WELCOME HOW HE WATCHED BONA- 

PARTE's life EBB AWAY LAURA BRIDGMAN, 

AND HER sweetness OF MAGNETISM JENNY 

LIND COMES AND SINGS TO THE BLIND STUDENTS 

HER GENEROSITY THE GREAT AND ONLY 

BARNUM ALICE GARY A POEM FROM FRANCES 

RIDLEY HAVERGAL. . . . . 105 

CHAPTER XXII.— 1850-1868. 

SECULAR SONGS CANTATAS MEET MR. BRAD- 
BURY ENGAGE TO WRITE HYMNS LIFE-WORK 

DISCOVERED A DREAM-VISION DEATH AND 

xi 



Contents. 

FA0E. 

FUNERAL OF MR. BRADBURY THE MYSTERIOUS 

VOICE NOM-DE-PLUMES. . . . -US 

CHAPTER XXIII.— 1853-1893. 

GROVER CLEVELAND AS A YOUNG MAN HIS GRIEF 

AT HIS father's DEATH HIS INDUSTRY AND 

DEVOTION TO HIS STUDIES DISPOSITION TO 

HELP OTHERS COPIES POEMS FOR ME UP- 
BRAIDED BY SUPERINTENDENT GROVER's AD- 
VICE SOME PLAIN PROSE NO MORE TROUBLE 

PLEASANT ACQUAINTANCE WITH HIM AFTER 

HE HAD SERVED AS PRESIDENT. . . . II9 

CHAPTER XXIV.— 1893-1903. 

THE MAKING OF A HYMN THE " HYMN-WORK- 
SHOP " "moods" IN WRITING " BUILDING " 

A MOOD BEGINNING WITH PRAYER MEASURE 

AND TUNE WRITING TO AN AIR THE BOOKS 

OF THE MIND HYMNS WAITING FOR THEIR 

MATES. . . . . . . . -123 

CHAPTER XXV.— 1900. 

A POEM BY WILL CARLETON. .... I30 

CHAPTER XXVI.— 1843-1903. 

OLDEST AND NEWEST HYMNS .... 133 

CHAPTER XXVIL— 1903. 

A POEM BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER. . . -152 

CHAPTER XXVin.— 1903. 

LIVING AND LEARNING STILL THINGS "THEN" 

AND NOW FIRST RAILROADS FIRST TELE- 
GRAPH-WIRE TELEPHONES NEWSPAPERS 

THE MANY OTHER IMPROVEMENTS AND INVEN- 
TIONS — -A LIFE OF JOY AND SUNSHINE CON- 
TINUALLY MEETING OLD FRIENDS RESIDENCE 

IN BROOKLYN REMOVAL TO BRIDGEPORT "AS 

YOUNG AS WE FEEL" NO "INFIRMITIES OF 

age" HOPE TO BE A CENTENARIAN WILLING 

TO GO, WHEN THE LORD CALLS. . . . I55 

xii 



CHAPTER I.— 1820-1825. 

INFANCY — BLINDED AT SIX WEEKS OF AGE — ^AM 
THANKFUL FOR IT NOW — PARENTS AND RELA- 
TIVES LONELY AMUSEMENTS — ASKING GOD 

FOR A CHANCE IN THE WORLD — HIS ANSWER 
— ^THE BELLIGERENT LAMB — DANIEL DREW'S 
ATTEMPTED PRESENT OF "STOCK." 

IT seemed intended by the blessed Provi- 
dence of God, that I should be blind all 
my life ; and I thank Him for the dispen- 
sation. I was born with a pair of as good 
eyes as any baby ever owned ; but when I was 
six weeks of age, a slight touch of inflamma- 
tion came upon them : and they were put under 
the care of a physician. 

What he did to them, or what happened in 
spite of him, I do not know, but it resulted in 
their permanent destruction, so far as seeing is 
concerned ; and I was doomed to blindness all 
the rest of my earthly existence. 

I have heard that this physician never ceased 
expressing his regret at the occurrence; and 
that it was one of the sorrows of his life. But 
if I could meet him now, I would say, "Thank 
you, thank you — over and over again — for 
making me blind, if it was through your 
agency that it came about !" 

13 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

This sounds strangely to you, reader? But 
I assure you I mean it — every word of it ; and 
if perfect earthly sight were offered me to-mor- 
row, I would not accept it. Did you ever know 
of a blind person's talking like this before? 

Why would I not have that doctor's mistake 
— if mistake it was — remedied? Well, there 
are many reasons : and I will tell you some of 
them. 

One is, that I know, although it may have 
been a blunder on the physician's part, it 
was no mistake of God's. I verily believe it 
was His intention that I should live my days 
in physical darkness, so as to be better pre- 
pared to sing His praises and incite others so 
to do. I could not have written thousands of 
hymns — many of which, if you will pardon me 
for repeating it, are sung all over the world — 
if I had been hindered by the distractions of 
seeing all the interesting and beautiful objects 
that would have been presented to my notice. 

Another reason is, that, while I am deprived 
of many splendid sights (which, as above men- 
tioned, might draw me away from the principal 
work of my life), I have also been spared the 
seeing of a great many unpleasant things. The 
merciful God has put His hand over my eyes, 
and shut out from me the sight of many in- 
stances of cruelty and bitter unkindness and 
misfortime, that I would not have been able 
to relieve, and must simply have suffered in 
seeing. I am content with what I can know 
of life through the four senses I possess, prac- 
tically unimpaired, at eighty-three years of 

14 



Birth and Parentage. 

age. Hearing, tasting, smelling, and feeling, 
are still felt, in their fullest degree. 

Another reason for my apparently strange 
assertion is, that I have been able to test and 
make sure so many kind and loving friends. 
Almost without exception, the great world has 
been good to me : all the kinder, perhaps, on 
account of what it considered my affliction. I 
may say truly that I never for a moment pre- 
sumed on my bhndness for any extra courtesy 
or advantage, yet I have often felt that it was 
a bond between sympathetic hearts and mine. 

I was born in Putnam County, N. Y., March 
24, 1820. My father's name was John Crosby ; 
he died when I was very young. My grand- 
father fought in the War of 1812; my great- 
grandfather in the Revolution. My mother's 
given name was the good old-fashioned one 
of Mercy. 

I have always been proud at having been 
related, though not very nearly, to that fa- 
mous hero of the Revolution, Enoch Crosby. 
I have often sat when a little child, and Hstened 
to stories of his courage and heroism. Though 
he never came to be an officer, yet it was uni- 
versally admitted that he did the Revolutionary 
cause more good than many a gallant general. 
One of Cooper's most famous novels has him 
for its hero. He lies buried now, in a little 
country cemetery near Carmel, N. Y., with 
scores of my race sleeping around him. 

As a child, although blind, I was by no 
means helpless, or of a sedentary disposition: 
T indulged in manv of the sports enjoyed by 

15 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

my little playmates, and romped and clambered 
wherever they did. I could climb a tree or ride " 
a horse as well as any of them, and many good 
people when seeing me at play were surprised 
at being told of my ''misfortune." I attended 
school at times, but, of course, could not study : 
raised letters for the blind were not common 
then. 

One of my principal amusements was to sit 
with hands clasped, or engaged in some piece 
of work with needles, and listen to the many 
voices of Nature. The laughing and sighing 
of the wind — the sobbing of the storm — the 
rippling of water — the "rain on the roof" — the 
artillery of the thunder — all impressed me 
more than I can tell. I lived many lives with 
my imagination. Sometimes I was a sailor, 
standing at the mast-head, and looking out into 
the storm ; sometimes a general, leading armies 
to battle; then a clergyman, addressing large 
audiences and pleading with them to come to 
Christ; then the leader of a gigantic choir of 
voices, singing praises to God. My ambition 
w^as boundless ; my desires were intense to live 
for some great purpose in the world, and to 
make for myself a name that should endure; 
but in what manner was it to be done ? 

A poor little blind girl, without influential 
friends, could have as many ambitions as any 
one ; but how was she to achieve them ? What 
was there for her ? The great world that could 
see, was rushing past me day by day, and 
sweeping on toward the goal of its necessities 
and desires ; while I was left stranded by the 

i6 



Comfort from Hymns, when a Child. 

wayside. "Oh, you cannot do this — because 
you are blind, you know; you can never go 
there, because it would not be worth while: 
you could not see anything if you did, you 
know" : — these and other things were often 
said to me, in reply to my many and eager 
questionings. 

Often, when such circumstances as this made 
me very blue and depressed, I would creep off 
alone, kneel down, and ask God if, though 
blind, I was not one of His children ; if in all 
His great world He had not some little place 
for me ; and it often seemed that I could hear 
Him say, "Do not be discouraged, little girl : 
you shall some day be happy and useful, even in 
your blindness." And I would go back among 
my associates, cheered and encouraged; and 
feeling that it would not be very long before 
my life would be full of activity and usefulness. 

And so it was, that gradually I began to lose 
my regret and sorrow at having been robbed 
of sight: little by little God's promises and 
consolations came throbbing into my mind. 
Not only the Scriptures, but the hymns that I 
heard sung Sabbath after Sabbath, made deep 
impressions upon me. 

With the ultra-acute hearing which gener- 
ally accompanies blindness, I could distinguish 
every word of the hymns, however indistinctly 
they might be sung; and they were in many 
cases a refreshment to my young souL Even 
in childhood, I began to wonder who made 
those hymns ; and if I myself could ever make 
one that people would sing. 

17 



Fanny Crosby's Life- Story. 

As already indicated, a growing, healthy 
girl, although she may be blind, cannot live 
entirely in her intellectual nature : and I did 
not lack means for my share of the regulation 
juvenile sports. I dare say I was as bother- 
some to my mother as are most children to 
theirs ; and was constantly asking for some 
novel way by which to amuse myself. 

One day she called me to her side, and said, 
"Here, Fanny, is a live toy : only be careful of 
it and not hurt it." 

It was a sweet, lovely pet lamb ! — and I seri- 
ously thought, for a day or two, of having my 
name changed to "Mary", of whom I had heard 
as once possessing a similar piece of property, 
and of smuggling the dear little pet away to 
some school, to see if the teacher would turn 
it out, and if it would then linger near, etc. I 
finally gave up the idea, but I played with my 
little quadrupedal toy morning, noon, and 
night: until at last the sturdy creature got 
into the habit of playfully butting me over, as 
one of its pastimes. 

Now came the first tragedy of my life : after 
maltreating me several times, and being 
promptly forgiven on each occasion by its lov- 
ing victim, the "lamb", which was now fast as- 
suming the proportions of sheephood, Became 
the subject of a star-chamber trial, and was 
condemned to death, and to punishment after 
death : to be cooked and eaten. Be sure most 
of it was done before I knew anything about 
it : else probably I should have raised the roof. 
The first T knew about it, I was told we were 

i8 



Daniel Drew as a Drover. 

to have lamb-chop for dinner: and in the 
ominous silence that followed, I divined my 
favorite's fate. Tears and fasting followed, but 
they were of no avail: the belligerent little 
friend was no more. 

Daniel Drew, afterwards a celebrated rail- 
road magnate, but then a drover, dealing in an 
entirely different kind of stock, often passed 
our house with droves of sheep and cattle. We 
v/ere always great friends : and soon after the 
above-mentioned sad event, he came into our 
house and placed a small lamb in my arms, 
saying, ''Here, Fanny, is a present for you" ; 
but I had no heart then to accept it, and de- 
clined the gift, to his great surprise. 



19 



CHAPTER II.— 1825. 

A SLOOP-JOURNEY DOWN THE HUDSON — ACTING 

AS captain's first mate ^A PATRIOTIC 

SONG DRS. MOTT AND DELAFIELD GIVE AD- 
VERSE DECISION BLIND FOR LIFE ! THE 

SAD JOURNEY HOME WHAT THE WAVES SAID. 

ONE evening, when I was about five years 
old, my good mother called me to her 
from the dooryard, where I had been 
playing, and I ran to her side. As I 
say, it was evening, but that made no differ- 
ence with me : I could play in the night as 
well as daytime, and had no trouble in reach- 
ing her side, whether the candles were 
lighted or not. There were no kerosene lamps 
then, and people in the country had to de- 
pend for their light upon candles, made by 
dipping a wick of cotton repeatedly in melted 
tallow, until enough of it clung to the wick to 
make a ''body" for the apparatus; and when 
that was lighted it did not illuminate a house 
to any great extent. 

Well, my dear mother called me to her side, 
and said : "Fanny, I am going to take you on 
a little journey. We shall travel first in a 
wagon, till we come to the bank of a beautiful 
river, with mountains on each side of it ; then 

20 



In Pursuit of Sight. 

we shall get into a sail-boat and sail south for 
many miles ; then we shall come to a great city, 
larger than anything of which you have ever 
heard or thought, and stay there for several 
days ; and then home again." 

The idea of taking a journey filled me with 
joy, and I danced about the room with perhaps 
not enough attention to the furniture that kept 
getting in the way; but my transports were 
somewhat modified, when she explained the 
object of the expedition — to have a surgical 
operation performed upon my eyes. "There 
may be some pain with it, Fanny," she ex- 
plained : "but you are willing to bear it, are 
you not?" 

I already knew what pain was : — it is, alas ! 
one of the first things we learn in life ! and I 
shrank a little at the idea of any of it being 
inflicted upon me. "But, Fanny," my mother 
explained, "perhaps it will result in giving you 
your sight : so that you can see everything that 
is around you, and play with the rest of the 
children exactly as they do, study pretty pic- 
tures, and read interesting books, and enjoy 
yourself in a hundred ways that you do not, as 
your eyes are now." Then I was happy again. 

This was in 1825 ; and you may readily be- 
lieve that means of communication were not 
many and varied, in those days. There was 
not even a stage from our home or from near 
there, to any point upon the Hudson River. 

We started one morning before the early 
dawn was in the skies, and rode in a market- 
wagon to Sing Sing, on the Hudson, where 

21 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

we were to take a sloop for New York ; steam- 
boats were still very few and far between. This 
musically-named town, in which I thought 
every one, probably, belonged to the choir, 
was then a small country hamlet, straggling 
along the banks of the river — with no idea 
that it would ever bear such a prominent part 
in the punishment of the malefactors of a 
great commonwealth. 

So at four o'clock in the soft dawn of that 
summer morning, we unfurled our sails, and 
went rushing down the river toward the great 
metropolis. It is perhaps needless to say that 
the novel experience was a delight to me : I 
was all over the deck, and soon, I may safely 
say, in the good graces of everybody aboard. 
I could not of course view the beautiful scenery 
through which we were passing; but there 
were plenty of friends to describe it to me, and 
1 enjoyed it upon the whole as much perhaps 
as if I could have seen, and as if I had had to 
depend entirely upon my own powers of obser- 
vation. I have always delighted in passing 
through beautiful scenery, and, indeed, enjoyed 
the sensation of traveling — perhaps more than 
some that can see ; and I find that other blind 
people are the same in this respect. 

My poor mother was at times seasick, or, 
more accurately expressing it, river-sick : but 
I kept well, and after knowing that she was 
comfortable in her berth, and being told that 
nobody ever died of that kind of sickness, and 
that she would be all the better for it soon, I 
was the gayest of the gay ; and Captain Green 



22 



A Popular Child-Vocalist. 

immediately adopted me as "first mate of the 
sloop." I was, I believe, called a fairly pretty 
child; and my black curls and frisky manners 
did not detract from the five-year-old disposi- 
tion that developed in me, to be the belle of 
the company. 

The dear old Captain pretended to discover 
that I was a great vocalist; and at times kept 
me busy singing all the little songs I had gath- 
ered up since old enough to learn and under- 
stand them. These were not very many or 
particularly deep; but they served. One of 
them I remember inaugurated itself with the 
following impressive lines, sung to a famous 
patriotic air: 

'T wish I was a Yankee's wife, 
And then I would have somethin' : 

Every fall an ear of corn, 

And now and then a pumkinT 

I felt, even then, that there was something a 
little irregular in the rhyming of this stanza : 
but the Captain pretended to hold my song 
particularly in very high esteem, and whenever 
he was a little blue, called me to him and 
coaxed or hired me to sing it. With the usual 
thrift of the accomphshed cantatrice, I gradu- 
ally increased my prices as the article grew 
more and more in dem' nd ; and was very much 
disappointed when, a^ er gliding through the 
beautiful Highlands and past the impressive 
palisades, we arrived in the Big City. 

It was early in the morning when we landed, 

23 



Fanny Crosbys Life-Story. 

having been twenty-four hours in making the 
trip from Sing Sing — a journey that I have 
frequently performed since, by railroad, in 
fifty-five minutes. 

We went to the house of a friend who bore 
the good old name of Jacob Smith, at No. lo 
Roosevelt Street, a very fine place at that time ; 
and soon we were in the presence of the fa- 
mous Dr. Valentine Mott. 1 felt that Dr. Mott 
had a kind, pleasant face : singularly enough I 
have always been able to form a pretty accu- 
rate opinion of a countenance, by the voice 
that proceeded from it. 

Being but a Httle child, to whom one of 
God's creatures was about the same as another, 
except as they pleased or displeased me, I did 
not stand so much in awe of the great Dr. 
Mott ; but my mother did, and listened with 
bated breath to hear what he should say of my 
case. It was not the first time that poor 
mortals had hung upon his words ; for he was 
even then considered the foremost surgeon 
of his time. He occupied the chair of sur- 
gery in Columbia College, and had performed 
operations that no other practitioner ever 
dared to undertake. He had, seven years be- 
fore, placed a ligature around the brachio- 
cephalic trunk, or arteria innominata, only twG 
inches from the heart, for aneurism of the right 
sub-clavian artery; and that for the first time 
in the history of surgery. To be sure the 
patient died within a month ; but with the com- 
forting assurance that he had had something 
done to him with a knife, that no other patient 



24 



No Hope for my Eyes. 

had ever experienced. And as this was before 
the age of chloroform, or any other very ef- 
fective anaesthetics, death must certainly have 
been a relief. 

Well, Dr. Mott and another celebrated sur- 
geon at that time, named Dr. Delafield, ex- 
amined my eyes and told mxy tearfully-listening 
mother, that there was no hope for them : mal- 
practice had spoiled them. And so we re- 
turned to our country home — taking the sanie 
sloop and the same market-wagon as those in 
which we had come. 

The poor doctor who had spoiled my eyes, 
soon disappeared from the neighborhood ; and 
we never heard any more about him. He is 
probably dead, before this time ; but if I could 
ever meet him, I would tell him that he unwit- 
tmgly did me the greatest favor in the world. 
I was more thoughtful and sad on the way 
back up the river: the great doctor had not 
been above placing his fatherly hand on my 
head, and saying, "Poor little girl !"_ and that 
touch of sympathy went with me as I journeyed 
homeward. Hour after hour, when I had crept 
into my little "bunk" on the sloop, I heard the 
dear waves of the river singing to me, and 
telling me not to be discouraged. "Fanny, be 
brave ! Fanny, be brave !" they seemed to say : 
"brighter days will come yet!" 

And, indeed, they were coming: although 
from what direction I did not then know. 
But I never lost my faith in the great Father 
above ; I knew that the river-waves were His, 
and that I had heard His voice. 

25 



CHAPTER III.— 1830. 

BIBLE-INSTRUCTION MY FIRST POEM MY 

FIRST LITERARY ADMIRER HIS INABILITY TO 

CONCEAL HIS SENTIMENTS — A TERRIBLE 
THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE — A PLEA FOR MEN- 
TAL LIGHT — god's goodness IN ANSWERING 
PRAYER. 

THE greatest piece of good fortune that 
attended me when a httle girl, was 
that I was taught the Bible — line upon 
line, and precept upon precept. When 
nine years old we moved to Ridgefield, Con- 
necticut, and there lived for a time in one of 
the numerous and intelligent Hawley families, 
of which Connecticut has so many, alid from 
one of which Senator Hawley sprang. 

Mrs. Hawley taught me the Bible, and the 
poetry of the day, in about equal portions. She 
was an old Puritan Presbyterian, and took 
everything in the sacred writ as literally as 
the most orthodox Scotchman could do ; but 
she loved at the same time the green meadows 
and singing brooks of imagination. 

Even when ten years old, I could recite the 
first four books of the Old and the first four 
books of the New Testament, without a mis- 
take ; and I knew secular poems almost with- 

26 



Child-Verses. 

out number. Of course, as soon as I began 
to hear poetry, it made me want to write some. 
1 believe 1 am not entirely unique in this re- 
spect : editors tell me that their mail-bags teem 
with poetical attempts made by all sorts of 
people in all sorts of places and on all sorts 
of subjects. 

My first poem, composed when I was eight 
years old, was as follows : 

Oh, what a happy child I am, 

Although I cannot see ! 
I am resolved that in this world 

Contented I will be. 

How many blessings I enjoy 

That other people don't! 
So weep or sigh because I'm blind, 

I cannot, nor I won't ! 

I quote this poem, it is needless to say, not 
on account of its literary style, or as anything 
very remarkable, except that it gives an indi- 
cation of the spirit in which I have taken life 
throughotit all these eighty-three years — of 
optimism, and of thankfulness because I had 
as many blessings as I did, rather than of re- 
pining because one was left out. 

I composed other verses, and always on the 
subjects nearest me. The fragrance of a rose 
— The singing of the wind in the trees — the 
death of a favorite bird — all these inspired me 
to juvenile effort; and, anxious to hear what 
others thought of my work, it was not long be- 

27 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

fore I began to free these little stanzas from 
the leashes of my memory, and let them loose 
upon my poor dear mother. 

She wrote down some of them, and was 
greatly pleased ; she and the good IVTrs. Haw- 
ley held a literary consultation concerning 
them. They decided that they were very good, 
for a girl of that age ; and copies were sent to 
my grandfather. 

I now found my first gallant and unqualified 
admirer. The dear old gentleman wrote a very 
enthusiastic letter concerning the poor little 
''pieces", and told my mother that we indeed 
had a poet in the family, and that if I lived and 
improved as I ought to do, I would be an 
honor to them all. "But," he added, cautious- 
ly, 'Vou must not fell her this, or it will make 
her proud, and spoil her." And it is due my 
mother's prudence and good sense, to say, that 
she never imparted to me anything about my 
grandfather's encomiums : but he soon saw me, 
and could not refrain from giving them to me 
at first hand. 

But there was one terrible hunger that af- 
flicted me during all these years : and that was 
for knowledge — knowledge — knowledge ! I 
felt that there were a million things that I 
ought to know, and had no means of learning. 

If I ever lamented that I was blind, it was 
through these opening days of girlhood — and 
that for only one cause : the fact that it de- 
barred me from reading for myself. The 
amount of literature printed in raised letters 
for the blind was very limited in those days, 

28 



Praying, Instead of Complaining. 

and I had been so accustomed to knitting, that 
my fingers were not adapted to learning how 
to read by such means, even if alphabets for 
the blind had been common. 

So, night and night again, I have gone to 
bed drearily, weeping because I could not drink 
of the waters of knowledge that I knew were 
surging all around me. I felt at times like a 
sailor on a great lake of fresh, crystal water, 
heated and thirsty, but bound hand and foot, 
so that he could not get to the blessed relief. 

''Dear God, please give me light!" was my 
prayer, day by day. I did not mean physical 
light — but mental ! I had long been contented 
to bear the burden of blindness : but my edu- 
cation — my education — how was I to get it? 
The ordinary schools could do little for me; I 
was not able to read and educate myself, as 
many home-students have done; those around 
had little time to read to me ; and I felt as if I 
were in danger of growing more and more 
ignorant every day. God help those who thirst 
for knowledge, and find every way for obtain- 
ing it cut off! 

Sooner or later, I always rose from my knees 
feeling that these prayers would be answered. 
God has always had a way of granting my pe- 
titions to Him, some wonderful examples of 
which I shall give, farther along in this book. 

How much better it is to pray, hopefully 
and with faith, for those things we need, than 
to fret and complain because we do not already 
possess them ! 



29 



CHAPTER IV.— 1835. 

A THRILLING ANNOUNCEMENT — AN EDUCATION 
AT LAST ! — ON THE "tIPTOE OF EXPECTATION*' 
— STARTING FOR SCHOOL — ARRIVAL AT THE 
INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND — A HELPER OF 
OPPRESSED GREEKS — AN ACQUAINTANCE OF 
LORD BYRON — SCHOOL-LIFE STARTS OFF 
WELL. 

SO matters ran on, until I was fifteen years 
old : and then, one day, something was 
told me that brought a thrill of joy and 
delight never, never to be forgotten. 
"Fanny, arrangements have been made for 
you to attend the school for the blind, in New 
York." 

Only a few words, but what a flood of joy 
they admitted to the poor sad little soul that 
had so long pined and prayed for knowledge ! 
God had responded to my prayer, at last — 
through His own means, and by His own faith- 
ful helpers. Oh, if the founders and sustainers 
of such institutions could only know a mil- 
lionth part of the joy they cause, they would 
feel repaid for their money and their efforts — 
again and again ! 

Of course, I was upon the very tiptoe of ex- 
pectation — my joy only tempered by the fact 

30 



Starting for School at Last! 

that I should have to leave behind my dear 
mother, and the friends whom I had learned to 
love. But the distance was not great, and, 
so to speak, was becoming less and less all the 
time, owing to constantly increasing facilities 
of travel; and I was told that I could return 
during every vacation, and oftener if I or they 
should at any time be ill. 

The preparations were few and simple : a 
girl then did not require so many appur- 
tenances when starting for school, as she does 
now. I was soon ready : and left home on the 
3d of March, 1835 — searching, as upon my 
voyage of ten years before, for light — ^but this 
time for the mental, instead of the physical, 
light that should illuminate my mind, and make 
me happy ever after. 

This time, we did not go down the Hudson 
River, upon a sail-boat : we first journeyed to 
Norwalk, and there took a steamer for New 
York. 

This, although vastly dififerent from the 
mammoth sound-steamers of today, served the 
turn, and brought us through very comfort- 
ably : and I was cordially received by Dr. John 
Denison Russ, who was then Superintendent 
of the Institution. He was only thirty-four 
years old, but had already been through an 
interesting and varied experience. He had 
settled in New York as a physician after 
graduating at Yale College, but one year after- 
ward, in 1826, he was so moved with pity at 
the suflFerings of the struggling Greeks, that 
he went to their aid with a cargo of supplies, 

31 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

from Boston, and remained there three years, 
during which time he established a hospital at 
Poros, and conducted it personally for fifteen 
months. 

Returning to New York in 1834, he began 
at his own expense the instruction of six blind 
boys ; but the same year, w^as appointed Super- 
intendent of the Institution of which I was 
happily so soon to become an inmate. 

While in Greece, he had been intimately as- 
sociated with Lord Byron. I shall never forget 
the thrill of delight, upon meeting some one 
that had actually known the great poet, whose 
■verses I had already learned to admire. He 
was full of reminiscences of the poet-patriot, 
and his recounting of them at times had a great 
fascination. 

Everything started off well: I was a little 
homesick at first, but frequent letters and new- 
made friends soon softened that feeling; while 
fresh facts and ideas were sent thronging 
every day into my mind. 



32 



CHAPTER v.— 1835-1836. 

SCHOOL-LIFE THE MONSTER ARITHMETIC AND 

ITS TERRORS METAL SLATES IN LOVE WITH 

OTHER STUDIES — "DROP INTO POETRY" NOW 
AND THEN — TEMPTATIONS TO VANITY — A 
BENEFICIAL ''cALL-DOWN" FROM THE SUPER- 
INTENDENT — ALL FOR MY OWN GOOD. 

BEHOLD me, now, Miss Fanny Crosby, 
full-fledged student, in a city school! 
I assure you, it seemed a great step 
forward — and upward — to me; one 
that I had coveted through many years ; one 
whose first joy I can never forget. 

Some young ladies creep off to boarding- 
school unwillingly, and as a solemn duty, and 
ma3^be I would do so, were I in their place; 
but under all these circumstances, the occur- 
rence was a great pleasure in my life, though 
for a time, as stated in the preceding chapter, 
I was a little homesick, and longed often to 
meet again my dear mother and friends. 

But the world seems built a good deal lilce 
the track of a hurdle-race : you are apparently 
skipping along at great speed, and all at once 
you encounter something that must be im- 
mediately overcome before you can go a step 
farther ! 

33 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

The first obstacle that I found standing in 
my way and looming up like a great monster, 
was Arithmetic. I have never been a very 
good hater, even when the best material was 
provided for the purpose; but I found myself 
an adept at the art of loathing, when it came 
to tlie Science of Numbers. The cuhnary poet 
who in a fit of dyspepsia exuded the statement 

"I loathe, abhor, detest, despise 

Those pastry-wrecks, dried apple pies", 

had a parodist in me. I could not agree with 
him concerning the article of food in question, 
for I like almost everything that a good cook 
can send to the table; but I could say, at that 
time, 

'T loathe, abhor, it makes me sick 
To hear the word Arithmetic !" 

However, this great foe to my peace of mind 
had to be conquered, and at it I went, with a 
vengeance — wishing that every assault would 
give the Arithmetic a twinge of pain. But no ! 
I was well aware of the fact that the sturdy old 
creature went right on, without minding me 
at all, through all the affairs of life, and that 
we could not do much of anything very long, 
without consulting him. 

The great variety of resources that this ter- 
rible study possessed with which to frighten 
and appal the student, was something terrible 
to contemplate. Addition and Subtraction 
went on fairly well, and did not give me so 
very much trouble ; but when the Multiplication 

34 



We Study by Listening, 

Table made its appearance on the scene, that 
was an entirely different matter. The only 
alleviation of its miseries was, that it came in 
a kind of poetical form — a swinging, rhymeless 
sort of poetry, to be sure — blank verse, I 
should call it; but that fact, as with many 
other students, aided me to remember it. 

Our toil in Arithmetic was materially aided 
by metal slates, which had holes in them, with 
which we could count and realize the numbers 
as we went on. But I never became an ac- 
complished mathematician, although our 
school upon the v/hole was said to be much 
more advanced in mathematics than students 
of the same age that could see. 

Grammar, Philosophy, Astronomy, and Po- 
litical Econom}^ followed, among our studies . 
and with all of these I was in love. Our les- 
sons were given us in the form of lectures and 
readings, and not many words that came to 
our ears managed to slip away from us. Indeed, 
we could not afford to let them do so ; for we 
were closely examined each day by m^ans of 
questions asked by the teachers, and our pro- 
gress and standing in the school depended 
largely upon our ability to remember and re- 
count these lessons. 

Noticing the respect and deference paid to 
our instructors, and realizing how much more 
personal independence they had, feeling that 
I wanted to be financially as self-reliant as 
possible, and most of all wishing to please, 
comfort, and help my dear mother, I made up 
my mind to be a teacher, as soon as I could. 

35 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Nor did I forget the other friends of my 
babyhood and youthhood — especially the dear, 
gallant old grandfather who had so en- 
thusiastically announced that ''we had a poet 
in the family." I composed several little 
poems from time to time, which, it is no more 
than fair to say, were received with great 
favor, by both teachers and fellow-pupils. In 
the mind of a girl in her ''teens", this would 
naturally produce a little feeling of self-gratu- 
lation, and it is possible that in my appearance 
or behavior, an "air" or two appeared. 

Perhaps Mr. Jones, the Superintendent at 
that time, noticed it : for one morning he came 
into the school-room, and said, 

"I would like to have Fanny Crosby come 
into my room for a few minutes." 

I went, readily enough ; supposing that a 
new ode or other kind of lyric was to be or- 
dered, to the honor of some distinguished per- 
son or event : and, perhaps, a little proudly, 
stood before the Superintendent, at his desk, 
awaiting his wishes, and hoping that I could 
find time, among my other duties, to accord 
to them. 

His very first words were a most emphatic 
surprise, and fully disposed of my theory that 
I was to write a new poem by request. 

"Fanny," he said, "your — your attempts at 
poetry, have brought you into prominence 
here in the school, and a great deal of flattery 
has been the result. Shun a flatterer, Fanny, 
as you would a snake ! 

Now, I am going to give you some clean 

36 



Some First-Class Advice. 

truth, which may hurt just now, but will be of 
great use one of these days. 

''As yet, you know very little about poetry, 
or, in fact, anything else — compared to what 
there is to be known. You have almost all of 
it yet to learn. 

"Do not think too much about rhymes, and 
the praises that come for them. Store your 
mind with useful knowledge and think more 
of what you can be, than of how you can appear. 

"The favor and laudation of the world, 
Fanny, is a very fragile thing upon which to 
depend. Try to merit the approval of God, and 
of yourself, as well as that of your fellow- 
creatures. 

"Remember that the very air you breathe— 
the very food you eat — all the ability or talent 
that you may develop — come from God. 

"Remember that you are always in His pres- 
ence: and who has any right to be vain for a 
moment, when standing before the great 
Owner and Creator of all things ?" 

He talked to me in this way, kindly but firm- 
ly, for perhaps five minutes ; and at the end of 
that time he had convinced me that instead of 
being the great poet Fanny Crosby, I was 
really the ignorant young school-girl, who as 
yet knew scarcely anything whatever. 

His words were bomb-shells in the camp of 
my self-congratulatory thoughts : but they did 
me an immense amount of good. Something 
said to me, "He tells the truth, Fanny, and it 
is all for your own benefit." 

Still, the hot tears came to my eyes, as per- 

37 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story.- 

haps they would have done to those of any 
ambitions girl: and I naturally felt much pain 
and mortification at his words. But a reaction 
of feeling soon took place: and going around 
behind his chair, and putting m}^ arms around 
his neck, I kissed him on the forehead. "You 
have talked to me as my father would have 
talked, were he living," I said, ''and I thank 
you for it, over and over again. You have 
given me a lesson that I might have had to 
learn through bitter experience, and I shall 
profit by it." 

And I believe I have done so : at least I have 
tried, through all these eighty-three years. I 
have done my best to remember that not my 
poor insignificant self, but the great God above, 
was entitled to the credit for whatever I could 
accomplish ; and to keep the monster Egotism 
from coming up between my duty and me. 

If in this autobiography, in which I am try- 
ing to give a true story of my life, the pro- 
noun of the first person singular number is too 
often used, the reader must forgive : it is be- 
cause it is unavoidable, and not because it is 
in my hearts 



CHAPTER VL— 1835-1858. 

INCITEMENTS TO AMBITION GREAT PEOPLE 

WHO WERE BLIND — THE IMMORTAL HOMER — 
THE KING-POET OSSIAN— JOHN MILTON AND 
HIS GENIUS — FRANCIS HUBER, THE NATURAL- 
IST — OTHERS WHOSE CAREERS GAVE US EN- 
COURAGEMENT. 

AMONG the interesting things that we 
were taught in our Institution, at the 
very outset, was the fact that scores 
and hundreds of individuals had 
achieved fame and fortune, in spite of bhnd- 

ness. ,~- 

We were told about Homer, the greatest poet 
of antiquity, who, while traveling to get ma- 
terial for his immortal work, contracted a dis- 
ease of the eyes, which made him blind for- 
ever: but who worked away with renewed 
ardor; and who, although he died poor, 
achieved an immortal fame — such as many 
people would be willing to go blind all their 
lives, if they could attain. 

We were told of Ossian, the Celtic king — 
who, it is said, was a warrior while he could 
see, but became a poet after he was stricken 
with blindness, and sung songs that made him 
famous forever. Indeed, we were told that 

39 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story, 

his very existence was disputed by some 
critics: but, for that matter, the same experi- 
ence had befallen the names of Homer, Virgil, 
Julius Caesar, and WiUiam Tell. There 
seemed fully as much reason to believe that 
he existed, as that he did not ; and, as he was, 
in a manner, one of us, we preferred to take 
the affirmative of the question. 

We were told of Milton, who lost his eye- 
sight from a disease caused by incessant study 
while he was young: but who, as the light of 
this world became gradually shut out, grew 
more and more luminous himself, with sacred 
lore and imagination. As we heard of the 
daughters who read to him, and wrote down 
his grand lines, and who, alas! did not seem 
always to appreciate the great privilege, many 
of us girls felt that if we could only have had 
our sight and assisted such a grand man as 
that, we would have asked not a single addi- 
tional pleasure in the world ! 

Of course we were all proud of Francis 
Huber, who, notwithstanding the cataracts 
that grew over his eyes, and blinded him at 
last, became the historian and biographer of 
those swift-winged messengers between flower 
and flower, and garden and hive — the bees. 
Within his mind he seemed to have construct- 
ed a great hive of learning, wherein he sorted, 
arranged, and made use of the facts that others 
brought him. He had patience to analyze and 
compare the different experiments that were 
made under his direction and that of others— 
which qualities he might have lacked or never 

40 



Anything — With God's Help! 

have developed, if he had been "favored" with 
the power of seeing. 

Added to these illustrious names, were 
given us many who had not climbed to the 
very top round of fame, but who, although 
blind, had accomplished more than the aver- 
age degree of success, in their various callings. 
Science, mechanics, the "learned professions", 
and all the miscellaneous pursuits, we found 
had been ornamented, to a greater or less ex- 
tent, by the blind. 

With this, we were taught that whatever we 
determined to do, if within the average power 
of man or woman, we could, with God's help, 
do — the same as if we had the blessing^s of 
sight : and at it we went with a wilL 



'b)' 



41 




CHAPTER VII.— 1835-1858. 

VACATIONS PUPILS WHO ENJOY AND PUPILS 

WHO DO NOT ENJOY THEM — AWAITED EACH 
TIME BY MOTHER AND SISTERS— CANDY AND 
FLOWERS SAVED UP — EXCURSIONS — SWEET 
INQUISITIVENESS AN ENTHUSIASTIC AUDI- 
ENCE — SISTERS STILL SPARED. 

MONG pleasant school-memories, the 
vacations are likely to bear a promi- 
nent part. However well a student 
may love the studies and the discipline 
of scholastic life, occasional seasons of rest 
are generally anticipated with keen relish. 

1 say "generally", because, alas ! there are 
always more or less in every school, who have 
no pleasant homes to which they can go. Few 
students are so to be pitied, as are these : 
others' delight, contrasted with their own lone- 
liness, makes their lot peculiarly hard to bear. 
It is one of the numerous blessings which 
our dear Lord has showered upon me, that I 
have the most beautiful and winsome of vaca- 
tion-recollections. Not only my dear and 
precious mother, but two younger sisters al- 
ways awaited me with many expressions and 
other manifestations of delight, and made the 
occasional home-comings trebly pleasant. 



Vacation-Delights, 

At the coming of vacation, I always has- 
tened home as soon as possible : and invariably 
found that a royal reception had been reserved 
and kept in readiness for "Sister Fan." It 
was touching to know that the dear little tots 
had been exercising their ingenuity to its full- 
est extent, to make their "big sister" feel the 
deliciousness of the home that she could not 
see. Sundry bits of candy that had been reso- 
lutely saved up for many weeks were slipped 
into my hand; flowers of every kind were 
brought me, with their fine velvety blossoms 
and rich delicate fragrance. Excursions were 
planned, to the shadiest of nooks and the most 
deHghtful of forests; and often to the homes 
of dear friends, who received us with unaffect- 
ed kindness. 

And the questions that I had to answer! 
Each little sister had a set entirely of her own, 
and all had to be duly considered faithfully 
answered, before the little cross-examiners 
were satisfied. Of course it was a pleasure to 
tell everything to such attentive and apprecia- 
tive listeners : and 1 fully availed myself of the 
chance. 

Every pupil in the school had to be duly 
described; the teachers, with their various pe- 
culiarities, all came in for a share of the exami- 
nation. Then there were the distinguished 
visitors that had favored our Institution with 
their calls : these all had to be reviewed in due 
course. How often do I remember that small 
family-group : the two little sisters snuggling 
up to me and clinging to my hands, and my 

43 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

mother sitting close by, and listening to it all 
with an indulgent smile, which I could feel 
though I could not see! 

Of course every poem that I had composed 
since I saw them before, had to be duly re- 
cited, and subjected to their criticism. This, 
however, I am bound to say, was generally 
favorable, to a degree that bordered on enthu- 
siasm; and it would not have been exactly 
comfortable for any one rash enough to have 
intimated to them that their big sister was not 
the greatest poet of ancient and modern times ! 

Of course I knew that they would know 
better, when they became older; but their 
sweet childish partiality still lingers in my 
memory, like the fragrance of sweetest 
flowers. 

It has been my blessed privilege to have 
these sisters spared to me : one of them, Mrs. 
Carrie W. Rider, is now my daily companion, 
and loving protector; while the other, Mrs. 
Julia Athington, is a near neighbor to us. 

1 also have several nephews and nieces, at 
whose homes I am always welcome : and many 
sweet little vacations are still spent with them. 

While nearly all humanity, so far as 1 have 
met it, has treated me as a dear sister, there is 
yet a peculiar and intense pleasure, in feeling 
that my own near relatives are so loving and 
congenial. 

I am sure the reader will pardon this little 
digression into family matters : they are a part 
of me, and necessarily form a portion of mv 
autobiography. 

44 




CHAPTER Vril.— 1836-1837. 

BLIND STUDENTS, ALSO, HAVE "sPORTIVE" 
MOODS — SOCIALS, MUSICALES, AND SOIREES — 
HAZING — TENDER ATTACHMENTS — "iNNO- 
CENT" THEFTS A WATERMELON ADVEN- 
TURE—DEAR MR. STEVENS' FIFTEEN-MINUTE 
NAP—A GOOD LAUGH OVER THE AFFAIR. 

LIND Students, as well as others, have 

their merry and sportive moods. They 

can "see" a joke, just as well as if 

they were not debarred from physical 

sight; and many are the "games" that they 

perpetrate upon each other. 

It may readily be surmised, then, that our 
amusements in the Institution were many and 
varied ; and that we indulged in most of the 
pleasant little plays and other diversions that 
vary the monotony of "seeing" school-people. 

Our socials, musicales, and soirees, were 
largely frequented by friends from outside, as 
well as by those of our own number. 

Even the cruel process of "hazing" was not 
always left out of our school-life, although, of 
course, it was constantly discouraged by the 
teachers, and the more orderly of the pupils. 
I suppose we considered ourselves entitled to 
all the privileges of other schools ! 

45 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story, 

Of course, the Institution being co-educa- 
tionaly more or less "tender attachments", of 
greater or less duration, were formed: and in 
these cases, love often laughed at oculars, as 
well as locksmiths. The chapel was a favorite 
place for short '"spooning" seasons, and several 
students who could manipulate the piano, had 
preconcerted chords which they struck, or 
tunes which they played, to let each other 
know that they were there, and waiting for 
an interview. 

Now and then an innocent theft occurred. 
One in which I am half ashamed to confess I 
was interested, took place one evening in the 
garden. The teachers and students had culti- 
vated a fine lot of vegetables : and among them 
we knew that there were some luscious water- 
melons, and our mouths naturally watered for 
a share. 

All at once, a rumor was circulated that 
these melons were to be sold for the benefit 
of the school ! Whereat, a quiet consternation- 
meeting was held, and we decided that, when 
it came to what we considered as partly our 
own melons, there were different ways of bene- 
fiting the Institution. A few of us decided to 
have at least one of the largest of the juicy 
oblong globes, that very night. 

I was only eighteen years old, then, and 
may be pardoned for relishing an adventure 
that savored somewhat of the madcap variety. 
Taking with me into the garden one of the 
smaller girls, I concealed her as well as I 
could (for it was a moonlight night), told her 

46 



Not a Single Boy in Sight. 

to hang on for dear life to a large watermelon 
that presented itself, and started out to do a 
little reconnoitering with the senses of touch 
and hearing. 

Ah ! a step ! — I knew it right well : it was 
that of Mr. Stevens, the gardener, 

''Why, Mr. Stevens!" I exclaimed: "yo^ 
here? — How do you happen to be walking up 
and down at this hour of the night?" 

"I'm watching out for some of them miser- 
able boys that's tryin' to steal the melons", 
said the kind but reliable old gentleman. "I'll 
catch 'em, yet." 

"Don't you want me to watch awhile for 
you, Mr. Stevens?" I inquired, demurely. 
"You go in and rest : your voice sounds tired. 
Go and sit down for fifteen minutes, and I'll 
stay out here, and watch for you. And de- 
pend upon it, if a single boy comes, I'll let you 
know." 

Saying this, I led the dear old gentleman in- 
doors, seated him in an easy chair, placed my 
cool hand on his brow to soothe him a little, 
and told him to sit there and rest, while I would 
go on watch for a quarter of an hour. Then I 
went back to my little stowaway in the garden. 

"Take the melon, if you're big enough, and 
run for our room as soon as you can !" I whis- 
pered. She needed only one set of directions ; 
and girl and melon were soon quite a distance 
away. 

At the end of the fifteen minutes, I went 
back to Mr. Stevens, and told him that not a 
boy had been near ; and, having by this time 

47 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

enjoyed a good rest and a quiet little nap, he 
went back to his vigil, first thanking me for 
my help. 

When I returned to the room, the dissected 
fruit was all ready to be still further dissected : 
and we enjoyed it all the better for the mild 
little adventure. 

A few years afterward, I told the Superin- 
tendent about it, and we enjoyed a hearty 
laugh together over the incident. "To think 
how 3^ou blind children were all the while get- 
ting the start of us 'seeing' people !" he 
chuckled. As for good Mr. Stevens, the 
gardener, he had then gone on where, it is to 
be hoped, wicked boys and girls do not molest, 
and where watermelons would not be particu- 
larly refreshing. 



48 




LATEST PHOTOGRAPH. 



CHAPTER IX.— 1836-1842. 

"strenuous" work — HOW A BLIND PERSON 

CAN TOIL, INTELLECTUALLY BECOME ONE 

OF THE TEACHERS — THE 'VlTCHING SPRITE" 

OF POETRY FORBIDDEN TO COMPOSE ANY 

POETRY FOR THREE MONTHS — PHRENOLOGY 
TO THE RESCUE ! 

I THINK it may be said truly that I toiled 
night and day. ''How can a blind person 
work intellectually?" — do you ask? Bet- 
ter perhaps than one that can see. It is 
not necessary for us to record in writing as we 
go along, everything we think and accomplish : 
we can put it upon the tablets of memory, and 
copy it down or have it copied as we get op- 
portunity. Memory, when cultivated, grows 
a wonderful treasure-house of ripened grain. 

I do not want to boast of my progress ; but 
as I look back over the past, it gives me a little 
feeling of pride to be able to say that at the 
rather early age of twenty-two, I was consid- 
ered competent to teach Grammar, Rhetoric, 
and Ancient and Modern History ; and became 
one of the regular instructors of the Institu- 
tion. 

What a pleasure it then was, to feel that I 
was imparting to others the same blessings of 

49 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

knowledge for which I had longed, through so 
many weary days and nights ! 

While preparing for this position, there was 
still one restless, witching little sprite that kept 
creeping up to me by night and day, and in- 
viting me to take trips with her into the un- 
known ; and the name of that sprite was Poetry. 
She was ever tugging away at my hands, or 
my hair, or my heartstrings, and whispering, 
"Sister Fanny, come with me." 

The faithful Superintendent seemed in doubt 
whether to encourage me in my poetical pur- 
suits or not. He finally talked to me a long 
while on the subject, said there were a great 
many people who wrote rhymes because thev 
were poetry-lovers rather than poets, and 
finally gently but firmly forbade my producing 
any more of the dangerous article, for three 
months. 

I did not understand his object in doing this : 
but suppose now that it was to see if a certain 
amount of abstinence would not cure me of the 
habit, or disease, whichever he considered it. 

I did not Hke it, "a little bit"; but, feeling 
that the good Superintendent knew what was 
best for me, I acquiesced, and religiously 
avoided a rhyme as I would the measles. 

It w^as one of the trials of my life : for, 
whether or not I would *'lisp in numbers", they 
inevitably "came." 

Singularly enough I soon gained my little tri- 
umph in the matter ; for about this time we had 
a visit from Dr. George Combe, a distinguished 
phrenologist, of Scotland. Dr. Combe had 

50 



A Boy-Mathematician. 

found himself a convert to the science, in Edin- 
burgh, while Spurzheim was there; and had 
published several works on the subject. 

When he came to America, he "took in" our 
school, among the other sights ; and several of 
us had the honor of feeling the touch of his 
learned hand upon our throbbing, and, I trust, 
not distended heads. 

Just before he came to me, he examined the 
phrenological organs of one of our boy-pupils, 
"Why, here is a splendid mathematician I" he 
exclaimed. "He could do anything in mathe- 
matics !" And the Doctor was right ; for this 
little fellow was almost another Zera Colburn. 
He could already do a great many wonderful 
things : for instance, he could listen to two per- 
sons talking to him at the same time, and then, 
while singing a song, could inform both of 
them the number of seconds they were old — 
they of course first giving him the years, weeks, 
and months. (I used to notice, by the way, 
that very few ladies availed themselves of the 
ofifered courtesy.) 

When I heard the boy praised, and reflected 
on those wonderful things he could do, I was 
almost envious, and wondered why the good 
Lord could not have given me a few of the 
figures and groups of figures that seemed to 
line every portion of his brain. I trembled 
when my turn came to have the head examined, 
and felt a wild impulse to run. Dr. Combe 
said, 

"Why ! here is a poet ! Give her every ad- 
vantage that she can have; let her hear the 

51 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

best books and converse with the best writers , 
and she will make her mark in the world." 

The next morning our Superintendent sent 
for me to come to his room. ''Fanny," he ex- 
claimed, 'Vou may write all the poetry you want 
to." From that time, the advice of Dr. Combe 
was followed : I was prompted to write poetry, 
was taught how lines should rhyme, and in 
every way encouraged. And I am bound to 
say that for a great part of this favorable de- 
cision as regarded the wooing of my muse, I 
was indebted to Phrenology, and the good Dr. 
Combe. 



52 




CHAPTER X.— 1842-1843. 

DR. combe's endorsement IS OF BENEFIT— 
THE "poet laureate'* OF THE INSTITUTION — 

taught how to write poetry — hamilton 
Murray's aid~a reunion after sixty- 
five years' absence. 

iROM the time that good Dr. Combe 
proclaimed me a poet, I was so^ con- 
sidered by my teachers and associates ; 
and they "knew then that they had 
known the fact from the first." But it takes 
a certain amount of outside endorsement to 
make even our best and nearest friends appre- 
ciate us; and this I had heretofore lacked. It 
was for the famous Scotch Phrenologist to set 
me, if I can say it without being suspected of 
a pun, upon my poetical feet. 

I was now, 1 think it may be said without 
vanity, considered as the poet laureate of our 
Institution; and the teachers evidently deter- 
mined to make a first-class writer of me, if cul- 
tivation could do it. I was taught all the in- 
tricacies of verse, until I began to wonder that 
the subject which I had considered as a very 
Simple, easy sort of thing, had so many com- 
plications. I was taught to analyze, to parse, 
to scan, to write in different measures ; and be- 

53 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

gan to worry lest I should disappoint the high 
expectations that the phrenologist had raised. 

Among the most potential aids I received at 
the time, was that from a gentleman named 
Hamilton Murray. Mr. Murray claimed that 
he could not write poetr}^, but could teach 
others how to do so; and as pupils in that 
branch of study were not numerous, he seemed 
to take especial pleasure in giving me prosodi- 
cal instruction. He had a poetic temperament, 
and a fine rich voice : and hour after hour he 
would read me some of the grandest poems he 
could find in English literature. 

This, as you may readily imagine, was a lux- 
urious feast: and a benefit. Mr. Murray also 
encouraged me to imitate, as nearly as I could, 
the different poetical masters of that day — as 
Bryant, Willis, etc. He pointed out, with much 
delicacy, the different defects in my literary 
style, and tried his best to remove them. With 
rare faithfulness, and with much kindness, con- 
sidering that his pupil was not a rich man's 
daughter, but a poor blind girl just starting in 
life, he toiled for my benefit; and though I 
could not pay him in money, he had my heart- 
felt gratitude. He has long walked the streets 
of the great Tuneful City: and I hope some 
day to meet him there, grasp him by the hand, 
and thank him once more. 

Not long ago, I had the pleasure of meeting 
his nephew, Mr. Bronson Murray, of New 
York : whom I had also known at that time. 
He was of about my own age, and from him I 
had always received the most gentle and manly 

54 



Old Friendships Draw Compound Interest, 

courtesies. We now met again for the first 
time in sixty-five years : and th6 reminiscences 
that were awakened, may be readily imagined. 
Seldom have I enjoyed a visit so much. 

How do these old friendships draw com- 
pound interest, as the years go on ! And what 
a grand treat it will be, in the next world, to 
meet all those whom we have known and 
loved here, and talk over the events of the 
past ! 



55 




CHAPTER XL— 1842-1845. 

MUSICAL DIVERSIONS FOR THE BLIND—NEIGH- 
BORLY CALLS SOIREES — WILLIAM CULLEN 

BRYANT VISITS US — HIS KINDNESS TO THE 
GIRL-POET — TWO VISITS WITH HORACE GREE- 
LEY — SHOWING PEOPLE ABOUT THE INSTITU- 
TION — HOW THE BLIND "FIND THE WAY TO 
THEIR MOUTHS." 

E had fine music in our school; for 
as is well known, some of the Best 
musicians in the world come from 
among the blind. Indeed, an aug- 
mented delicacy of hearing generally com- 
pensates for loss of sight. We often had 
"musical soirees", and invited our neighbors 
in the city : and one evening we were electri- 
fied by the intelligence that the great William 
Cullen Bryant was commg as one of our 
guests ! 

Bryant was at that time the best-known 
American poet. Longfellow had not then writ- 
ten the books upon which hang most of his 
fame; Whittier was yet known rather as an 
Anti-Slavery agitator than as a v>^riter of verse ; 
and Willis, though a brilliant author and trav- 
eler, was obliged to yield to his older and more 
finished contemporary. 

56 



William Ciillen Bryant; Horace Greeley. 

Bryant had composed at twenty-three his 
"Thanatopsis", the sweetest apology for Death 
in any language (I wonder if that was the rea- 
son Death finally spared him so long?). He had 
with his other poems attracted the attention 
and commanded the admiration of the world ; 
had traveled extensively in Europe; and had 
now (1843) settled down for a time in editorial 
work. 

As was the case almost wherever he went, he 
was obliged to hold a little impromptu recep- 
tion at our soiree ; and among those that were 
introduced to him, was poor little timid I, who 
had very little hope that he would greet me 
otherwise than conventionally, and as a 
stranger of whom he had never heard before. 

To my surprise, however, he gave me a 
warm grasp of the hand, commented upon my 
poor little rhythmical efforts, commended them 
in a tone that I felt to be sincere, and told me 
to go on bravely and determinedly with my 
work. He never knew how much good he did, 
by those few words, to the young girl that had 
hardly hoped to touch the hem of his proud 
robe of poetic genius ! 

At a children's party on New Year's, 1844, I 
met for the first time Horace Greeley. He was 
then only thirty-three years old; had come to 
New York a journeyman printer, and fought 
his way into recognition. He had already 
founded the 'Tribune", and, of course, to meet 
him was an event. 

But I must say that I at first was disappoint- 
ed in him : perhaps I expected too much. "Is 

57 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

that the great Horace Greeley?" I pondered, 
after hearing him talk. I had never been able 
to read any of his editorials, but concluded, in 
my inexperience, that if they were no more 
brilliant than his conversation, the world was 
making a queer mistake in honoring him. 

I did not understand, at that time, as I have 
learned since, that great men have widely vary- 
ing moods, and that they are at one time si- 
lently gathering up that which at another they 
dispense so lavishly. 

The following summer I happened to meet 
him at the house of a mutual friend; and a 
more charming and intelligent conversation- 
alist, I never heard. History, literature, social 
ethics, political economy — all subjects — seemed 
perfectly natural and easy to him; and no one 
else wished to talk, so long as he could be kept 
talking. 

Of course, being human, I did not admire 
him one whit the less, when he insisted on my 
reciting to him some of my little poems, praised 
them, and invited me to write for his paper ! 

I hardly knew whether I walked or flew to 
my room that night : I was so proud at having 
been recognized as a poet by such a great 
genius as Horace Greeley ! 

On another occasion, during that same year, 
I remember feeling equally proud; and that 
was when I heard that my gallant old grand- 
father, who had been so enthusiastic in praising 
my juvenile abilities and so anxious that I 
should not be spoiled, wrote that he walked 
four miles to get a paper that had in it a poem 

58 



Queer Questions by Visitors. 

written by me, and felt well paid for his trouble ! 

Our little Institution of one hundred and 
fifty students was under State control and pat- 
ronage, and the Government naturally took 
much interest in it, and sent us as maniy in- 
terested visitors as it could. Institutions for 
the benefit of the blind were not so common as 
they are now, and we were quite objects of 
curiosity. The visitors, having read my poems 
in the different papers, where they had been 
published and republished, sometimes asked to 
be shown about the place by me. It was, 
in a manner, the blind leading those that were 
not blind; but I knew every inch of the estab- 
lishment, almost as well as if I could see. 

For a time, this piloting was a pleasant nov- 
elty; but, of course, it finally grew a little irk- 
some to answer the same questions again and 
again, and I became quite willing to depute 
the pleasure to others. One bright boy, who 
had been guiding a large party of ladies and 
gentlemen through the rooms and halls, report- 
ed that they had asked him as they entered the 
dining-room, how blind people managed to find 
the way to their mouths while eating. ''What 
did you tell them?" we inquired. ''I informed 
them," said the blind boy, gravely, "that we 
hitched one end of a string to the leg of our 
chair, and the other to our tongue; and by 
that means managed to prevent the victuals 
losing their way." 

The teachers gently reproved him ; but I had 
opportunity to know, that they laughed over 
the queer little episode, many times, afterward. 

59 



CHAPTER XII.— 1843. 

A TRIP ON "the raging CANAWL" — ITS WON- 
DERS AND ITS DELIGHTS — THROUGH THE MO- 
HAWK VALLEY AND AWAY TOWARD THE 
LAKES — AN EXPECTED FUNERAL PROCESSION 
TURNS INTO A **CIRCIS" — ENTERTAINMENTS 
ALL ALONG THE WAY — MAYORS OF TOWNS 
PRESIDE — BLIND AND SEEING PEOPLE COME 
FROM ALL DIRECTIONS — BUFFALO AND NI- 
AGARA FALLS ARE REACHED. 

ONE of the most enjoyable trips I ever 
took in connection with our Institu- 
tion for the Blind, was — not in a 
daintily upholstered palace car- — not 
in a finely appointed and swiftly gliding ocean- 
steamship — not in an exquisitely poised and 
jauntily driven mountain coach — but — strange 
to say ! — upon a canal-boat. 

Railroads were not bewilderingly plenty, in 
those days, as they are now; and it had not 
occurred to anybody that it would be desirable 
to build one along the valley of the Mohawk 
River, and then away off still westward — ^west- 
ward — to Buffalo — to Chicago — to the very 
Pacific Ocean itself! If any one had told us 
that such a thing would happen, "one of these 
days'', we would have considered him as one 

60 



Longest Canal in the World. 

of the blind who was trying to lead the blind. 

But, largely through the energy and perse- 
verance of Governor DeWitt Clinton, an arti- 
ficial river had been stretched from the Hudson 
to Lake Erie ; and few that are living now, can 
comprehend what a convenience and help to 
the country was this great highway of waves. 
Miniature ships — propelled by horses and 
mules, carrying great boat-loads of merchan- 
dise up and down through the country, may 
still be seen, by passengers on the New York 
Central Railroad trains, from the windows of 
its fast-flying coaches ; and they think little of 
them. 

But in those days they were among the 
principal commercial institutions of the coun- 
try. When the Erie Canal was opened, Gover- 
nor Clinton, who had dug the first spadeful of 
earth in the construction of the giant channel, 
was greeted, on his first trip, all along the line, 
with the ringing of bells, and the firing of can- 
non, and more or less eloquent speeches 
wherever he would stop long enough to hear 
them. It would be interesting if one could 
know how many people thronged the banks of 
the Erie Canal, during those days of triumph, 
to see Governor Clinton go past ! 

One who from curiosity or other reason 
visits the crafts employed nowadays, can form 
little idea of the elegance with which passenger, 
or "packet" boats were fitted up, in those days. 
Many people preferred traveling in them, even 
when on business, to using stage-coach or car- 
riage ; and a long boat-ride, through the finest 

6i 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

of scenery, among pleasant people, without 
jolting, and surrounded with the comforts of 
every-day life — was not half unenjoyable. 

So we had, as it were, our "private car", all 
to ourselves ; and were not long in taking pos- 
session of, and appropriating it. The crew, 
consisting of captain, driver, and maid, met us 
rather coldly, when we came on board, and 
acted as if they were afraid of us; but they 
soon found out, as they expressed it, that we'd 
'*do." They explained, after getting acquaint- 
ed, that they had supposed we would be a quiet, 
sad, sober,' melancholy lot of people, moping 
about with grief on our faces, the constant 
burden of whose song was, "I'm blind, oh, I'm 
bhnd." 

Without wishing to recommend too highly 
the vivacity of my companions and myself, I 
may say, that they revised their opinions, with- 
in about five minutes after we got on board. 
They found that we were inclined to enjoy life 
in every way that solid instruction and inno- 
cent amusement could give. It was not long 
before we knew our temporary aquatic guard- 
ians "as well as if we'd been through 'em 
with a lantern", as the captain luminously ex- 
pressed it. We were all over the boat in a 
jiffy, and knew every nook and corner of it 
before the expedition started. "Well, you're 
a rum lot. Miss Crosby", the Captain confided 
to me, in one of our first conversations : "an' 
it's the jolliest crew I ever shipped. To tell 
the truth, I dreaded you, an' expected to strike 
a sort of fun'ral percession, the hull length of 

62 



A "Shozir-Trip. 

the big ditch; but I guess it's goin^ to be a 
circis, all the way, an' a good one." 

It was not a ''circis" all the way, for there 
came times when we were very sober, staid, 
and circumspect; but we could not resist the 
exhilarating air of the hill-regions through 
which we passed, or the genial sunshine, or the 
smell of the flowers, or the cheery hail of boat- 
men and passengers whom we met along the 
moist way. We soon learned the construction of 
the locks, and how it was that our boat ran 
into the large basin and waited till that was 
filled or emptied, as the case might demand, 
in order to get us on the level required; and 
after the novelty of that was over, we often 
ran ahead on the tow-path, accompanied by 
one of our "seeing" teachers, and had a nice 
little bit of exercise before our steady-going 
craft overtook us. 

We stopped at all towns of any size on the 
way, such as Schenectady, Rome, Utica, Syra- 
cuse, Rochester, as well as many others, and 
gave entertainments. I may say, without ex- 
aggeration, that these affairs were the events 
of the evening, if not of the week and month, 
in the vicinity where we appeared. 

The Mayor would generally preside ; and 
give us as fine a speech of welcome as he had 
time to prepare. The Common Council, or 
Board of Aldermen, and other distinguished 
people, were very likely also to sit upon the 
platform ; while hundreds if not thousands of 
the citizen-rank-and-file were down in front. 

What with our singing, addresses, descrip- 

63 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

tions of our school, recitations, and such ora- 
torical and musical help as we managed to 
borrow from local talent, we flattered ourselves 
that we made a pretty good ''show", as we 
used playfully to call it; and we were always 
overwhelmed with praises, and invitations to 
"come again." 

Besides this, we generally netted a snug 
little sum for the Institution: although the 
main object of the excursion was the rousing 
of public interest in our educational work. 

After a day or two of rest in a town, meet- 
ing kind friends, partaking of splendid hospi- 
tality, encouraging sightless people who heard 
of and came to us from all directions — we 
would set sail again, and start for the next 
''stand" — delighted to get back again to our 
dear old canal-boat — containing, as Dr. 
Holmes used to say, "many of the pleasures 
of navigation, with none of its perils." 

And so we went on and on — till at last Buf- 
falo was reached, and after arriving there we 
were not long in making a pilgrimage to the 
great Niagara Falls. 



64 



CHAPTER XIIL— 1843. 

MIAGARA FALLS VISITED WHAT THE BLIND 

STUDENTS "saw" OF IT TABLE ROCK 

STANDING UPON GOAT ISLAND — THE POOR 

OLD ANIMAL FOR WHICH IT WAS NAMED 

STORIES OF THE "OLDEST INHABITANTS" 

TELLING ABOUT IT TO THOSE WHO "cOULDN'T 
GO." 

WHEN our canal-party had left its 
boat-home and extended its pil- 
grimage to the great Niagara 
Falls, we felt as if one of the great 
days of our life had come. 

"But what could you see of the Falls ?" some 
one asks. Much more than you would sup- 
pose, dear friend ! Seeing is not all done with 
the optical organs. 

Besides, we had in our school learned all 
about this gigantic plunge of four great lakes 
one hundred and sixty-four feet, into the rocky 
gulfs below; we had seen it over and over 
again with our imaginations ; and knew well 
what was going on (or, rather, off) before us. 

As we stood upon Goat Island, and one of 
our teachers described the Horseshoe Falls 
and other famous localities in his view, I could 
almost fancy I heard the morning stars singing 
together, and the sons of God shouting for joy ! 

65 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

I could imagine those great rocks that had 

stood for ages, while the river-billows went 
sweeping over them night and day, summer 
and winter, through century after century. 

I could at that time perceive enough of light 
and color (although as ever unable to distin- 
guish objects), to appreciate somewhat the 
opulence of hue that leaped and flowed around 
us ; though of late years, even that power has 
departed from me, and if I should stand upon 
the borders of that great tossing precipice to- 
day, even in the midst of the most brilHant 
sunshine, I could not get even a fragment of 
the wonderful chromatic feast. 

But I cotild still hear the trumpet-voice of 
this king of cataracts, proclaiming the power 
of the Almighty hand; I could feel the 
fresh breezes that spring from the bosom oi 
the whirling waters ; I could (sweetest thought 
of all) enjoy the enjoyment of my friends who 
could see, and listen to their animated descrip- 
tions. 

Indeed, I sometimes think that blind people 
see more than their friends who have the power 
of vision : for they get descriptions from vari- 
ous points of view, that it is not considered 
necessary to give to those who can look for 
themselves. 

We wandered all about the different locali- 
ties, and had everything described to us, until 
we felt as if we knew the place by heart. We 
stood upon the great Table Rock — then one of 
the principal curiosities of the "Falls", but now 
fallen from its high estate into the gulf below ; 

66 



The Goat and His Island. 

we lingered by the whirlpool, and imagined 
ourselves drawn into that mighty vortex. We 
walked up and down through the streets of 
the little village, and wondered what our sen- 
sations would be if we lived there with that 
continual peal of thunder in our ears. 

Many and interesting incidents were related 
to us by "the oldest inhabitants" — all of whom, 
alas ! are now in the grave — with the mam- 
moth cataract singing their requiem. 

Among the other things told us, was the 
way "Goat Island" happened to be named. It 
was after one poor old animal that belonged 
to a Mr. John Stedman, as long ago as 1779- 
He placed the poor old fellow there in the 
summer of that year, and left him alone for a 
while when autumn came, intending to row 
over and get him (there was no bridge then) 
"before snow flew." But, alas, for the poor 
goat! — ^winter set in early that year, naviga- 
tion to and from the main shore was impos- 
sible, and the animal died of starvation or 
exposure — taking his pay for the sacrifice in 
giving his name, or the name of his species, 
for centuries to come, to the world-renowned 
island. It has been given other titles tem- 
porarily, and was very prettily marked on one 
of the maps, "Iris Island"; but people gener- 
ally have always been loyal to the poor old 
quadruped who died there in the winter of 
1779-80, and continue to call it Goat Island. 

They told us so many stories of accidents, 
rescues, suicides, and other incidents almost as 
wonderful as the Falls themselves, that we 

67 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

were well-nigh bewildered ; and it took many 
weeks of our quiet and systematic school-life 
in New York to straighten everything out in 
our minds. It required much longer for us to 
satisfy all the curiosity of those of our school- 
mates who had not been so fortunate as to go 
with us. There was no envy expressed — only 
delight that we were able to enjoy so much, 
and genuine pleasure that they could partici- 
pate, even if indirectly, in the pleasures of the 
trip. 



68 



CHAPTER XIV.— 1844-1847. 

OFF TO THE NATIONAL CAPITAL AND CAPITOL 

BEFORE THE SENATE AND HOUSE OF REPRE- 
SENTATIVES MEET AND HEAR JOHN QUINCY 

ADAMS JAMES BUCHANAN ANDREW JOHN- 
SON STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS WILLIAM L. 

DAYTON JOHN P. HALE RUFUS CHOATE 

R. H. BAYARD ROBERT J. WALKER OTHER 

FAMOUS MEN IN THE AUDIENCE. 

IN' January, 1844, a party of us went to 
Washington, in order to awaken public 
attention in favor of the blind. We were 
asked to appear before the Senate and 
House of Representatives gathered in joint 
session : and here, in a poetical address which 
I was invited to give them, I had one of the 
most distinguished audiences of my life. 

You may well imagine that it was with some 
trepidation that a young woman still in her 
twenties, appeared before Congress: I have 
been told that I was the first and last poet ever 
invited to speak, or to recite his or her own 
productions before the great National Assem- 
bly. But I nerved myself to the task, and did 
as well as I could ; and had the pleasure of re- 
ceiving an enthusiastic encore. 

Greatest of all who were present on that 

69 



Famty Crosby's Life-Story, 

day, was John Qtiincy Adams. He was sev- 
enty-six years old, and had nearly all his life 
occupied some prominent office in the service 
of onr cotmtry. He had been President of 
United States eighteen years before: and wa? 
now in his old a^e winning new laurels as a 
most worthy Representative in the Lower 
House of Congress. 

Tyiiing onr stay in Washington I had the 
plea.s^2re of hearing- his speech on the subject 
of the Smithsonian Institcrte, and had the pleas- 
ure of a frien<ny greeting from h:n:, and a 
clasp of his hand- 
There was also a man in :r^ ;. : lience whose 
father had emigrated from I r -.;.'! sevent;.'- 
one years before, and whose n-otner vras the 
daughter of a Penns^dxania farmer. This man 
had worked his way up, through various offi- 
ces, until he was now United Stat^ Senator : 
and sixteen years after^'ards he was elected 
President. His name was James BuchanaiL 

Tho'e was one comparatively young man, 
dnrty-mne years of age: who had already 
commenced a unique career. As a tailor's 
apprentice, tmable to read or write, he 
had sat ttpon his bench, sewing up seams, 
wlule Kstemng to books read aloud by a gen- 
tkmaii who used to come into the shop and 
read, in order to ia^prove the minds of the 
-^rcrfeniQi: and among the selections, some 
. speech^ were rejwoduced, which had 
ill: '^ man's isatxxral talent- He be- 

Cor - - i _ 9US, learned to read, and, marry- 
ing before he was of age, was taught to write, 

70 



Distinguished Auditors. 

by his wife. He had been elected alderman 
of the little Tennessee town in which he set- 
tled, then mayor, then was sent to the legis- 
ktiire, and finally to Congress. 

rhis tailor's apprentice-boy, Andrew John- 
son, was yet to be a United States senator, a 
governor of his state, a \ ice -president, and 
finally by the death of the great Lincoln, Presi- 
dent of United States. After a stormy admin- 
istration, he was to retire to his home in Ten- 
nessee, to be sent to Washington once more as 
United States senator, and to die before he had 
fully entered upon his new political career. 

There was also Hannibal Hamlin, who, only 
thirteen years afterwards, was to be elected 
Vice-President on the same ticket that gave 
the Presidency to Lincoln ; and who, after that 
term expired, lived many years in public life. 

Stephen A. Douglas was also present. He 
was then thirty-one years old, being onlv 
forty-eight when he died, just after his defeat 
by Abraham Lincoln, in his canvass for the 
Presidency. His career was already a most 
promising one, and "The Little Giant'', as he 
was called, was even then making his mark. 

^^''illiam L. Da^-ton, of New Jersey, was 
there : he was to run in 1856 for the \^ice- 
Presidency, and be defeated, as was the head 
of the Republican ticket, John C. Fremont. 

John P. Hale, of New Hampshire, who in 
1852 ran for the Presidency on the Free Soil 
ticket, was also present on this occasion, being 
then a member of the Lower House of Con- 
gress. 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Rufus Choate, the celebrated lawyer, was 
also there, serving out the unexpired term of 
Daniel Webster, who died soon after its be- 
ginning. Mr. Choate, it is said, did not feel 
at home in Congress, and was at his best when 
pleading at the bar. 

Others who had at that time gained some 
prominence, and who afterwards achieved na- 
tional and in some cases international renown, 
were R. H. Bayard, a Senator from Delaware ; 
Robert J. Walker, from Mississippi; John J. 
Crittenden, of Kentucky, and Thomas H. 
Benton ("Old Bullion"), of Missouri. 

There were in the House-portion of my au- 
dience, besides those already mentioned, Rob- 
ert C. Winthrop, of Massachusetts ; Hamilton 
Fish and Preston King, of New York ; Henry 
A. Wise, of Virginia; Howell Cobb, of 
Georgia; John Slidell, of Louisiana; Robert 
Dale Owen, of Indiana, and "Long John" 
Wentworth, of Illinois. 

Little did I think that there also sat before 
me, a man who was one day to be President 
of a Southern Confederacy, and one of the 
principal figures in a titanic war between the 
North and South. This was Jefferson Davis, 
only three months older than Johnson, and 
destined to live four years longer than he — 
dying in 1879. 

There also sat before me, and did me the 
honor of listening, Alexander Stephens — 
thirty-five years old, who was destined to be 
Vice-President of the Confederacy, of which 
Jeflferson Davis was President. 

72 



Their Kindness is Remembered, 

There were also in the audience that day, 
Joshua R. Giddings, a prominent Pennsyl- 
vania statesman ; R. M. T. Hunter, of Virginia ; 
William L. Yancey, of Alabama; Robert 
Toombs, of Georgia ; and others who have 
since become more or less famous. 

Added to these, were many others, perhaps 
equal to their more fortunate brothers who 
achieved celebrity, but who were debarred 
from it, maybe by circumstances beyond their 
control, or that of any one except Him who 
holds the failure and success of humanity 
within His all-powerful hand. 

In April, 1847, we went to Washington 
again, and T once more had the privilege of 
appearing before Congress. Among the 
auditors on that occasion, were most of those 
above-mentioned, and in addition were several 
others who have since achieved additional 
fame. 

While I could not see these brilliant men, 
1 could feel their kindness, their appreciation, 
and their sympathy ; I was introduced to many 
of them, and have foUow^ed with interest their 
course through life. 

I naturally many times think about them, 
although now most if not all of them are dead 
and gone, and wonder how they could have 
been so kind as to listen to a young woman in 
her twenties, and to treat her with so much 
consideration. They were all intensely ambi- 
tious, although, mostly, obscure; and in the 
midst of their strenuous public life, they 
showed, by this considerate treatment of their 

73 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

blind visitors, that "one touch of nature makes 
the whole world kin." 

While in Washington we visited a great 
many historical places, and felt the thrill of the 
great deeds that had been performed there. If 
we could not see with the eye those objects of 
interest, we could with the imagination : which, 
like other faculties, grows stronger the more 
it is used. 



74 



CHAPTER XV.— 1844-1897. 

COLLECT POEMS AND PUBLISH A BOOK ''tHE 

BLIND GIRL AND OTHER POEMS" MY ''DE- 
CLINING health" DELIVERING A POEM BE- 
FORE THE NEW JERSEY LEGISLATURE AN- 
OTHER VOLUME, "MONTEREY AND OTHER 

poems" MY ''declining YEARS" FIFTY-TWO 

YEARS AGO STILL ANOTHER BOOK, "A 

WREATH OF COLUMBIA'S FLOWERS" PROSE 

STORIES "bells AT EVENING." 

IN 1844, I was induced to collect a number 
of my poems, for the purpose of publish- 
ing them in a volume. 

The idea seemed to me at first pre- 
sumptuous ! — the thought of being styled an 
"author" was almost too much for my nerves. 
But after awhile, the matter was arranged — 
partly in spite of me, and partly in accordance 
with my gradually growing desires : and the 
book was finally pubHshed, by the firm of 
Wiley & Putnam, who then occupied offices 
at 161 Broadway. 

The name of this book, which contained 160 
pages — exactly the same number as this 
story of my life — was mentioned, on the title- 
page, as "The Blind Girl and Other Poems : 

75 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

By Frances Jane Crosby, a Pupil at the New 
York Institution for the Blind." (It will be 
noticed that my original name, Frances Jane, 
was soon modified into the more diminu- 
tive and more easily wielded one, of Fanny.) 
Upon the title-page were these lines from 
Milton : 

" — who best 
Bears his mild yoke, they serve him best ; his 

state 
Is kingly." 

The Preface was written by Hamilton Mur- 
ray, a good friend of mine, mentioned else- 
where in this book, and bespoke in eloquent 
terms the favor of a discriminating public. It 
traced my career thus far, such as it was, 
vouched for the fact that all the compositions 
were ''the unaided productions of the author- 
ess", apologized for some peculiarities of 
punctuation which might, it thought, have 
served the purpose better if I could only have 
seen, so as to attend to it myself — and 
stated that my "declining health" rendered its 
financial avails all the more important. So 
strange are the decrees of the Master of the 
Universe! — I have outlived my good friend 
for thirty-five years, and, although then in 
delicate health, do not consider myself so at 
present. 

After a dedication in rhyme to the officers 
of the Institution, the first poem was the one 
that gave its title to the book — "The Blind 
Girl." It commenced with the following lines, 

76 



Early Poems in Book Form. 

which were to some extent descriptive of my 
own birthplace, 

''Her home was near an ancient wood, 
Where many an oak gigantic stood, 
And fragrant flowers of lovely hue 
In that sequestered valley grew" ; 

and went on for several lines to picture that 
little home, as well as I could do it with my 
imagination. The heroine of the poem was 
''Anna" ; she lost her mother at an early age, 
and, in addition to the physical affliction that 
had fallen upon her, a mental blindness gradu- 
ally came. Just as she was yielding to despair, 
a stranger appeared, who conducted her to our 
"home erected for the blind" — where she, hap- 
pily, received "Education's glorious hght." 

This poem was suggested by an incident 
that occurred while we were upon one of our 
trips to the interior of New York State. 

The next poem was "The Rise and Pro- 
gress of the New York Institution for the 
Blind", and contained a short history of its 
career. Then followed "Dedication of the 
Chapel", then an "Address", defivered to the 
Senate of New York, upon the occasion of its 
visiting our Institution ; and then "The Blind 
Girl's Lament", and "The Desolate." 

My next poem in the book was of a patriotic 
nature, and was "To the Heroes of Bunker 
Hill." Then followed "Reflections on the Clos- 
ing year" (1843), "The Captive", "Thoughts 
at Midnight", etc., etc. 

My first hymn was published in this book. 

77 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

It was entitled "An Evening Hymn", and is 
printed on another page. 

There was also one that had been deliv- 
ered before the Governor, Council, and As- 
sembly of the State of New Jersey, Jan. 29, 
1844; and two that were recited at several ex- 
hibitions on our tours in August, 1842. 

In 185 1, another volume was pubHshed — 
this one by R. Craighead, of 112 Fulton Street. 
It was entitled "Monterey and Other Poems", 
and had for its motto these lines from Milton : 

"As the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid 
Tunes her nocturnal note." 

This motto, it may be needless to say, was 
selected by one of my friends, and not my- 
self. In the Preface of this book I spoke of 
my continued bad health, and my "declining 
years" : little thinking that I would be issuing 
my autobiography a little matter of fifty-two 
years afterward. 1 was under a feeling of sad- 
ness and depression at this time, but, happily, 
the good Lord at last gave me the power to 
shake it off and commence life with new zest 
and courage. 

This book had in it some of the echoes of 
the war between United States and Mexico, 
which had recently been in progress. It con- 
tained, besides the initial poem, lines on the 
death of Maj. Ringgold, Col. Clay, and Gen. 
Taylor, who had been elevated to the Presi- 
dency on account of his being one of the 
heroes of this same Mexican War. 

78 



Other Poems, 

In 1858 came another book, "A Wreath of 
Columbia's Flowers"— published by H. Day- 
ton, at 107 Nassau Street. 

This work was partly in prose : commencing 
with a story, "The Mountain Chief; or, the 
Home of Medora." "Annie Herbert" was an- 
other ; "Philip Synclare ; or, the Traitor's Re- 
ward", and "Magerie; or, the Sibyl of the 
Revolution" were additional ones. 

These books all had a good sale, but are 
now out of print. , 

In 1897, appeared "Bells at Evemng and 
Other Verses", with a short biographical sketch 
by Rev. Robert Lowry, the famous composer. 
This book was issued for me, by the Biglow 
& Main Company, New York : who have also 
published many of my hymns, and with whom I 
have maintained most cordial and even afifec- 
tionate relations, for many years past. 



79 



CHAPTER XVL— 1844-1902. 

A NEW CHARGE ^A PROMISING STUDENT HIS 

CAREER IN SCHOOL — MARRIAGE — SYMPATHY 
IN PROFESSIONAL WORK — CHARACTERISTICS 
OF MY HUSBAND — HIS MANY GOOD QUALI- 
TIES HIS DEATH. 

WHEN we were at Oswego, upon the 
canal-trip mentioned in a previous 
chapter, a lady came to us, bring- 
ing a blind boy, just about to enter 
the years of manhood. I little thought, then, 
that my destiny would be indissolubly linked 
with his own. 

His name was Alexander Van Alstyne. The 
mother appealed to me in particular, as I was 
one of the teachers, although, it must be con- 
fessed, young for such a position, and asked 
me to take her "boy" especially under my per- 
sonal charge, and see that no harm came to 
him. 

I consented, perhaps rather thoughtlessly: 
but the responsibility was fated to have more 
important results than I supposed. 

He entered the Institution in 1844, ^^^ was 
in several of my classes during the four years 
he remained with us. In 1848 he graduated, 
and then went to Union College, Schenectady, 

80 






WIFE AND HUSBAND. 



Congeniality with Husband. 

where he studied Greek, Latin, and Theology. 

Although he became well grounded in gen- 
eral studies, and, indeed, distinguished himself 
by his scholarship, his natural profession was 
Aiusic, and he became a most accomplished 
performer, teacher, and composer — being fully 
conversant with the works of the old masters. 
He felt that all the mental discipline that he 
could procure in general studies, would en- 
rich his mind, and enable him to succeed bet- 
ter in his own vocation : and results proved 
the truth of that theory. 

In 1855, he came back to our Institution for 
the Blind, and for two years was a teacher 
there, and in 1858, we were married. 

We found in each other not only perfect 
congeniality, but sympathy in our pursuits : 
neither of us interfered with the other's pro- 
fessional career. Each of us (as is not always 
the case) could sympathize with the other's 
occupation, without rivalry or interference. He 
set several of my hymns to music : but his taste 
was mostly for the wordless melodies of the 
classics. He insisted that my literary name 
should remain as it was : I yielded to his desire, 
and although really Mrs. Van Alstyne, have 
always written under the name of Fanny 
Crosby, except when using soubriquets. 

His father. Wells Van Alstyne, came from 
the banks of the Rhine, while still young, bring- 
ing his wife with him. He was an engineer 
by profession, and bore a prominent part in 
the construction of the Welland Canal. 

For many years my husband taught music, 

81 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

and proved himself a brilliant instructor. He 
was proficient upon the piano and the cornet 
— and long occupied the position of organist 
in one of the city churches of New York. 

He was not only a musician, but a philoso- 
pher, and a deep student of human nature. He 
delighted in bringing out latent musical tal- 
ent, wherever he could find it. He often 
taught pupils free, in cases where they were 
not able to pay. 

"Van", as everybody who knew him affec- 
tionately called him, was always an inspiration 
in any company in which he was present, 
with his ready wit, his winning ma'gnetism, and 
his cheery ways. It has been told me by those 
who could see, that when he was at the organ 
or piano, his face bore the happiest expression 
of any they had ever witnessed in like circum- 
stances. He had his faults — and so have I mine 
—and as I suppose have all of us frail mortals : 
but notwithstanding these, we loved each other 
to the last. We were long spared bereave- 
ment: but he was taken sick in 1901, with 
asthma, and after a long illness, died on June 
i8th, 1902, of a complication of diseases. 

He was buried in Brooklyn, not far from 
where we first established our little home, soon 
after marriage : and there, though I cannot 
see the mound under which he rests, I can 
touch the turf with my hands, and try to make 
his spirit feel that I am constantly lamenting 
his temporary loss. 



82 



CHAPTER XVIL— 1845. 

THE BLIND NOT SO EASILY DECEIVED WAYS TO 

ASCERTAIN WHAT IS "GOING ON" LOVE-MAK- 
ING BEFORE THE BLIND NOT ALWAYS SAFE 

WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY OF THE MIND, HEART, 

AND SOUL THE BLIND CHILD FROM NEW 

JERSEY GRIEVES FOR HIS GRANDMOTHER 

ACTING THE PART OF THE GOOD OLD LADY 

THE LITTLE BOY HAPPY. 

ALTHOUGH they cannot see what is go- 
ing on around them, yet the bHnd are 
not by any means so easily duped, 
as many suppose : for there are numer- 
ous ways in which they can know what is "do- 
ing", almost as well as if they could witness 
it with good eyes, under the clear light of a 
noonday sun. Little by-plays often take place 
near me, the existence of which I am not sup- 
posed to know : but of which, in almost every 
detail, I am fully aware. 

Even surreptitious love-making has been 
attempted in my presence, the parties trusting 
to my physical bHndness to serve as a waft 
with which to hide themselves : but I have 
been able, a few times, to laughingly inform 
these amiable but misguided people, that I was, 
really, an involuntary spectator of their actions. 

83 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Thtd-e are many ways in which we perceive. 
Sound, for instance, has deUcate modifications 
and variations, that no one who has no oppor- 
tunity for making a study of them would sus- 
pect. vSlight jarrings, and the sudden changing 
of currents of air, all have their effect upon 
most blind people. 

Then there is that indescribable wireless 
telegraphy of the mind, heart, and soul — of 
which every one has more or less — whether 
perceived and utilized or not : and this the 
blind generally cultivate and employ to its ut- 
most capacity. 

Sometimes, however, especially with the 
very young, a certain amount of deceit can be 
successfully practiced. Occasionally it is for 
their own good, as in the following case : 

In 1845, 3. little blind boy, six years old, was 
sent to us from a New Jersey town. Coming 
from a home where he had naturally been 
petted by every member of the family, into 
strange and more austere surroundings, he 
was of course sad and homesick, and cried all 
day and all night — when he was awake — for his 
old home and those whom he knew and loved 
there. 

The Superintendent informed me, one day, 
that we should probably have to send him back 
again. ^'He keeps calling all the time for 
those he has left behind him, and especially for 
his grandmother. If the good lady could come 
once a week, or so, and talk with him a while, 
it would no doubt make him contented : but she 
writes that she is unable to do so." 

84 



Playing Grandmother. 

It occurred to me that a little harmless de- 
ception would not be out of place here : and 
I made up my mind to act the part of grand- 
mother, and visit the poor little fellow two or 
three times per week. I wrote to the good old 
lady, told her the circumstances, and what I 
wished to do, and asked her for all the infor- 
mation that she could give me, which would 
help in the impersonating. 

She willingly responded, and, although only 
twenty-five years of age, I carefully "made 
up", in voice, manner, and conversational ma- 
terial, for the part of a grandmother of his own 
flesh and blood. 

The next time I heard him calling for her, 
1 rushed into the room, and exclaimed, "My 
dear little boy. Grandma has come ! She want- 
ed to see you so bad, she couldn't stay away 
another minute !" 

"O Grandma, Grandma, Grandma !" the 
poor little fellow shouted, rushing into my 
arms, sobbing, meanwhile, with joy. "I 
thought you would never come!" He kissed 
me affectionately, not noticing, in his haste, 
the eradication of sundry wrinkles that he 
must have left on the dear old lady's face when 
he came away from home ; and as soon as he 
was calm, he made an elaborate series of in- 
quiries that put my memory and ingenuity to 
the fullest test. Not only the human friends 
and relatives, but every hen and chicken that 
he had left on the home-farm, had to be ac- 
counted-for. The recent behavior of several 
lambs, cats, a dog, etc., for all of which he 

8s 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

had names, was subjected to strict and 
diligent inquiry ; and, aided by the long letters 
that I had received, I was able to give consid- 
erable information, on a variety of subjects. 

When he and I had both become a little 
tired, I said, gently, "Now Grandma must go : 
but she will come back again, very soon." 

The little fellow was perfectly happy over 
the visit, and slept beautifully that night — 
dreaming, no doubt, of his dear old home and 
the loved ones there. 

I kept up the little masquerade for about 
three months, and then gradually ''tapered 
off" — finally ceasing the visits altogether : a 
Christmas box from home made a pretty good 
substitute for one visit, and he was soon be- 
coming acquainted with his surroundings, and 
losing his loneliness. 

I told him all about it, years afterward, when 
he had become a fine teacher, and one of the 
best grammarians that I have ever known : and 
he laughed over it with me, and thanked me 
for the bit of strategy with which we had man- 
aged to make him contented. "Otherwise, 
they might have had to send me back", he 
remarked : ^'and then I should probably have 
lost mv education." 



86 



CHAPTER X\7IL— 1846-1849. 

A TERRIBLE CLOUD IX THE EAST THE DREAD 

SPECTRE OF CHOLERA IN THE DISTANCE IT 

STARTS FROM INDIA MAKES ITS WAY WEST- 
WARD REACHES NEW YORK AND OTHER 

AMERICAN CITIES VACATION SPENT AMONG 

THE PATIENTS ''GOD WILL TAKE CARE OF 

US, EITHER IN THIS WORLD OR THE NEXT" 

MAKING MEDICINE HAVE THE PREMONITORY 

■ SYMPTOMS OF THE DISEASE STUMBLING 

OVER COFFINS IN THE HALLS END OF THE 

HORRORS. 



T 



OWARD the latter part of 1846, there 
came ominous news to our Institution 
— indicating that a great danger hung 
above us, and was soon to fall. We 
were no more alive to apprehension, in gen- 
eral matters, than were "seeing" people : but 
it must be admitted that this news cast a 
very sober feeling over our little band of stu- 
dents. 

The dread epidemic of Cholera was coming ! 
There seemed no way to stop it, when it once 
started on the warpath : medical methods at 
that time were largely inadequate. 

The disease is now better understood and 
more easily fought, than in those days : Sci- 

87 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

ence has made many long and profitable 
marches since then, and brought back among 
its trophies the means of stamping it out or 
warding it ofif. 

But in 1846, things were different, and it 
was as good as known that the dread spectre 
had started westward from the pestilence- 
laden streets and jungles of India, and that it 
was only a question of a little time when it 
would reach American shores. 

We were not long in studying up every- 
thing that could be learned on the subject: 
those who read to us never had more atten- 
tive listeners than at that time. We learned 
that in 1817, when the eyes of physicians were 
first turned toward this disease, the frightened 
inhabitants of India were calling it "Mordechie^* 
— Arabic for '^Death-blow" — ^which suffi- 
ciently indicated its terrible character. It was 
said to have "originated" in a little town 
named Jessore, about seventy miles northeast 
of Calcutta: but that was, no doubt, merely 
where the epidemic of 1846-49 was first dis- 
covered. 

The disease had existed for ages, in one 
place and another, and even a great Roman 
philosophical and medical writer named Cel- 
sus, who lived in the time of the emperor Au- 
gustus, made mention of it — or of. something 
very much like it. 

So the little town of Jessore may be termed 
merely the place where the terrible disease 
gathered its hosts, before starting out to over- 
run the world on this particular campaign. 

88 



Rapid Spread of the Cholera. 

In the early part of 1846, it descended upon 
Teheran, in Persia, and killed 20,000 people 
before it left the place. Sometimes it would 
poison one's blood all at once, and life would 
be extinct in a few hours. The disease went 
all over India, killed 6,380 British soldiers, as 
well as unnumbered hosts of natives, and, 
finally, itself an army of invasion, it drew up 
its lines of attack, and advanced into Europe. 

By August, 1848, it was at Berlin, and about 
the close of September it reached that great 
camp of ''all sorts and conditions" of people — 
London. Before it left England, it had taken 
over 70,000 lives. 

It is needless to say that all these facts were 
watched with breathless anxiety, by the people 
in New York. Of course there were no 
cables in that day, or even any "ocean gray- 
hounds" : but numerous packet-ships and some 
slow steamers were constantly sailing back 
and forth, and news had facilities of travel, of 
which it did not fail to take full advantage. 

It is a problem, and, no doubt, always will 
be, among physicians, and other scientists, as 
to how much the matter of fear has to do with 
the incurring of epidemic diseases, but one 
thing is certain : New York and its kindred 
American cities stood, for months, in dread of 
the terrible visitation, and tremblingly expect- 
ed it from day to day ; and, so to speak, were 
all ready to take it when it came. 

As for the teachers and students in the In- 
stitution for the Blind, we of course had our 
fears : but we were taught that the same good 

89 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Friend above, that had been so merciful thus 
far, would not desert us now ; that He would 
do all things best for us, both in this world and 
the next. We rested secure in His promise 
that we should all be held in the hollow of His 
hand. And so we prayed — and waited. 

We had not long to wait ! On the first of 
December, 1848, the packet-ship "New York" 
landed at Staten Island. She was from Havre, 
and brought with her several persons who 
were suffering from cholera. Soon three 
deaths occurred in our city, and the dread dis- 
ease was fighting the preliminary skirmish of 
its conquering march. 

Everything possible in those days was done 
to keep the contagion down, and stamp it out ; 
and for several months it looked as if this 
might be accomplished. But we were attacked 
from other directions. 

On the nth of December, an emigrant-ship 
arrived at New Orleans — having also come 
from Havre, leaving a few days before the 
"New York"; and this vessel, upon sailing 
into port, had already buried at sea seventeen 
who died of cholera. It was thought, at first, 
that there were no more cases on board, and 
the queen city of the South congratulated 
itself on having escaped. 

But one poor sick woman, having been sent 
to the Charity Hospital, was soon found to 
be afifiicted with the terrible disease ; and in a 
few days it spread all over New Orleans — 
causing 3,500 deaths. 

This thriving city of the South was then a 

90 



The Cholera Reaches Us. 

great center of travel: sailing-vessels, flat- 
boats, and steamers, were constantly leaving, 
in all directions. Frequently after a steam- 
boat started up the river, there v^rould be dis- 
covered upon her, several cases of cholera: 
and these would be hustled ashore at the first 
convenient landing, and left to the care of the 
hospitals, or of the people generally. 

It soon reached Memphis, then St. Louis, 
then Cincinnati, Chicago, etc., and on the 
nth of May, 1849, New York had to ac- 
knowledge that the terrible pestilence was at 
last with her to stay for a time, having ob- 
tained a firm foothold within her streets. Be- 
fore the month was out, Albany, Philadelphia, 
and Boston were all similarly afflicted ; and 
soon a reign of terror was at hand. 

Our summer vacation began unusually 
early, that year, and the students were sent to 
their homes as soon as possible : but several 
stayed long enough to suffer from the scourge. 

Some of us remained all summer, from choice : 
being convinced that God would take care of 
us, and that we could be of some help. Our 
faithful nurse, who had always been so kind 
whenever we were ailing, refused to leave her 
post; and we felt that we could afford to run 
ecjual risks with her. 

T never shall forget the terrors of that sum- 
mer, in which there were, during six months, 
over 5,000 deaths in New York City alone. 
The harsh cry of the truckman, "Bring out 
your dead !" sometimes rings in my ears to this 
day. 

91 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Our Institution furnished some of these : 
several sickened and died almost before we 
could raise a hand to help them. Often the 
vital power seemed to ebb all at once, as soon 
as the victim was attacked. If we could get 
our patients into a state of perspiration, there 
was hope ; and we used to rub them vigorously 
with salt in order to accomplish this. 

Dr. J. W. Clements, who was our physician 
at that time, was often busy making ''cholera 
pills"- — and many a time I assisted him in their 
manufacture. They were of two-thirds calo- 
mel, and one-third opium — rather a "strenu- 
ous" sort of medicine for these days, it would 
be considered : but the necessity at that time 
seemed to justify the means. 

One morning, I was quite sure that the 
dread disease had come upon me : indeed, I 
really had the premonitory symptoms. But 
I was bound that I would not yield to them : 
and the amount of calomel and opium that 
went into my stomach during those few hours, 
appals me as I think of it now. 

All day long I kept exercising, as briskly 
and vigorously as I could ; and when six 
o'clock came, I went to bed and to sleep, after 
having prayed to the great Physician of all, 
to watch over my slumber, and do with me as 
seemed best to Him. 

In the morning, after a good night's rest, 
I awoke, as well as ever: and did not have 
any more trouble of that kind. 

But the horrors of the situation grew upon 
us day by day. When patients died, they 

92 



Our Losses by Cholera. 

were removed as quietly as possible: but I re- 
member my fright at sometimes stumbling 
over coffins in the halls, on my way from room 
to room. 

When November came, the epidemic ceased ; 
and our school went on as usual. As above 
stated, several had died from among our num- 
ber, and we mourned them long and deeply : 
but not without the reflection that they were in 
God's hands, and that He had His own wise 
purpose in taking them to Himself. 



93 



CHAPTER XIX.— 1847. 

ASKED TO WRITE POEMS ON ALL SORTS OF 
SUBJECTS — A DIRGE FOR DANIEL WEBSTER BE- 
FORE HE WAS DEAD — DEATH OF HENRY CLAY*S 
SON — POEM UPON THE SAME — THE GREAT 
STATESMAN VISITS OUR INSTITUTION— HIS 
PATHETIC ACTIONS AND WORDS. 

ANOTHER disadvantage attendant upon 
my position as a kind of poet laureate 
of the Institution, was the fact that I 
was expected, whenever anything un- 
usual happened, to embalm the event in rhyme 
and measure. I may say, too, that not only the 
important events, but some of the most trivial 
of subjects, have from time to time been offered 
me as themes for my humble muse. People 
do not always stop to reflect that a poem is 
not an anecdote, or a table of statistics ; and 
that an incident so near and interesting to them 
that they consider it worthy an epic, might be 
almost ridiculous to the world at large, if set 
in rhyme. 

But there was and is no lack of events well 
worthy any poet's best endeavor, and I 
found them frequently. 

I remember one evening, as I was going 
through the street, with a party of friends, we 

94 



A Premature Dirge. 

heard newsboys proclaiming the death of 
Daniel Webster, and offering papers for sale 
with full accounts of the melancholy event. 
"You must write a poem on the subject at 
once, Fanny," every one said, "while the in- 
spiration of the sad event is on." 

I went to my room, and began the mournful 
but (to me) interesting task. I remember com- 
mencing as follows : 

"A casket has broken — a jewel has fled — 
The mighty has fallen — the peerless is dead ! 
And the heart of the nation is bleeding once 

more, 
For her eagle lies low on her desolate shore !" 

I was just repeating this stanza over to my 
friends, so as to gather from it inspiration for 
the next, when a gentleman, who had come 
into the room in time to hear it, exclaimed, 
"O Fanny ! Fanny ! the heart of the nation isn't 
bleeding, or the casket broken, or the eagle 
lying dead on the desolate shore ! That news 
was all a 'get-up' to sell papers : Webster 
isn't dead ! Don't let the poem go on any far- 
ther : you might kill him yet !" 

I was personally glad to know that the great 
expounder of the Constitution "still lived"; 
but must say that my "muse" was a little dis- 
appointed, at having plumed herself for flight, 
and been ruthlessly brought down to earth 
again by Mr. Webster's oversight in not dying. 

On the 23d of February, 1847, Henry Clay, 
Jr., a brave son of the magnificent statesman 
and orator, was killed while fighting in the 

95 



Fanny Crosby^s Life-Story. 

Battle of Buena Vista, in the Mexican war. f 
wrote a poem on this event, and, with help of 
friends, summoned courage to mail it to the 
afflicted father. 

The lines, which I quote from memory, were 
as follows : 

ON THE DEATH OF COL. CLAY. 

Lo on the blood-stained battle-field, 

A wounded hero lying; 
Dim is the lustre of his eye. 

For he, alas ! is dying ! 

See, how with feeble hands he grasps 

The sword, so faithful ever! 
Now drops the weapon from his side. 

To be resumed — no, never! 

O gallant Clay ! — though for thy brow 

Its laurels Fame is weaving, 
Vain trophies these ! — thy bosom now 

Its last faint sigh is heaving. 

Back, tyrants ! — would ye deeper make 

The wounds already given? 
You, from an aged father's heart. 

Another tie have riven. 

Intrepid warrior ! — thou has left 
A deathless name behind thee : 

That name, unsullied, bright shall shine, 
Though the dark grave may find thee ! 

Thou by thy General's side hast fought ; 

And Taylor will deplore thee. 
And many a heart that loved thee dear. 

Will weep in silence o'er thee. 

96 



Visit from Henry Clay. 

It was only a short time afterward that 
Henry Clay visited New York, and, among 
other places, came to our school. He was now 
seventy years of age ; and might easily be called 
one of the grandest old men of whom the coun- 
try could boast. He had been in public life 
almost continuously for forty-three years ; only 
three years before, he had been nominated for 
the Presidency, and although defeated, it w^^ 
believed the Whigs would name him again for 
the ensuing canvass. Zachary Taylor finally 
received that nomination and election, and 
went to Washington and to death ; but Clay 
was re-elected United States senator in the 
year following that, and so continued for the 
remainder of his life. 

Of course, we were all very much flustered 
and "put about" at the coming of this g-rct 
orator — rivalled only by Webster in his silver- 
tongued eloquence. We had our own band of 
music, containing twenty pieces ; and it met 
him with a burst of instrumental melody. 

Mr. Clay made us one of the finest addresses 
we had ever heard. His voice was sweet and 
gentle, and sympathetic in tone — qualities 
valued and appreciated very highly, by the 
blind. I remember feeling that no one of sen- 
sibility could stay in his presence very long, 
without being powerfully influenced by its 
magnetism. 

He mentioned the diiiferent things he had 
seen on a late tour through the countrv — a 
journey that had to be made mostly by steam- 
ers and horse-coaches — vastly different from 

97 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

the lightning progress made by politicians 
nowadays, in their tours through the country. 
He related several pleasant incidents that 
occurred during the journey, and said none 
had been more enjoyable than the present. It 
was a luxury to him, he remarked, to see so 
many of us there, who, although the good Lord 
had thought fit to deprive us of our sight, 
were still so comfortable and so happy. 

At the conclusion of this part of his speech, I 
heard him coming back on the platform to 
where I sat, and felt him take my arm. I had 
half hoped that he had forgotten the poem T 
sent him, although it was my heartfelt wish 
that it might give him some little comfort in 
his terrible affliction; but it was evidently not 
in his nature to forget anything kindly meant. 
He gently drew me toward the front of the 
stage, and said to the audience : "My friends, 
this is not the first time I have felt the com- 
forting presence of this young friend, although 
I never saw her before. Into the deep wound 
of my sorrow, she poured the balm of consola- 
tion." 

He continued to hold my arm while he 
talked on, in the same strain, for what seemed. 
to poor, shrinking me, a full hour, although it 
was not really more than ten minutes. I could 
not control my feelings, and we actually stood 
there and wept together. 

Only five years more, and the great Ken- 
tucky orator was to rejoin the son whom he 
loved so fervently and lamented so deeply. 



98 



CHAPTER XX.— 1848. 

GENERAL SCOTT VISITS US "a PORTION OF THE 

country's history"— his POLITENESS AND 
CHIVALRY— "war IS HELL" IN A MANNER 

ANTEDATED CAPTURING GENERAL SCOTT 

WITH HIS OWN SWORD ^WAITING FOR THE 

NEXT PRESIDENT"— JAMES K. POLK VISITS US 

HIS ANCESTRY DESERTING HIM TO GREET 

A SERVANT HIS KINDNESS AND CONSIDER- 
ATION. 

IN 1848, General Winfield Scott came to 
see us. He was said to be a magnificent 
looking man— over six feet in height, 
and well proportioned ; and at sixty-two! 
was m the fulness of his fame ; for he had, only 
a few months before, entered the City of Mex- 
ico in triumph. 

His career had been so splendid that we felt 
as if a portion of the country's history were 
about to walk in upon us. 

He had commenced life at Petersburg, Va., 
which afterwards became historical in Grant's 
memorable siege ; he had practiced law at twen- 
ty-two, become tired of it at twenty-four, en- 
tered the army as a captain of light artillery 
and remained in it ever since. He had been 
one of the heroes of 1812, and was the most 
LofC. 

99 



Fanny Crosbys Life-Story. 

prominent figure of the Mexican War, which 
had just closed. 

The General arrived a little earlier than the 
hour named for his reception, and I was sent 
down to the parlor to entertain him during the 
time he was waiting. I did not flatter myself 
that anything I might say would be of very 
much interest to so distinguished a man — one 
who had probably met many of the most illus- 
trious statesmen and soldiers and scholars of 
the world ; but he was quite pleasant, and in- 
sisted upon it that he was having a wonderfully 
good time. Of course his politeness and 
chivalry had much to do with his saying so, 
but if that was the only reason, he was a won- 
derfully good actor; for we fell to talking as 
if we had known each other a long time. Per- 
haps after the fatigues and anxieties of the 
campaign, a quiet visit with a simple girl had 
a restful effect upon him ; but whatever the 
cause, he was so communicative, that I felt like 
asking him all sorts of questions that I would 
not have dared to do an hour before. 

"How did it seem, when you really found 
yourself in the halls of the Montezumas, Gen- 
eral ?" I asked, referring, of course, to his con- 
quest of Mexico. "Didn't you feel like shout- 
mg? 

"No," he replied: "I felt like falling on my 
knees and thanking God for the victory. War 
is a terrible thing — demoralizing in all its im- 
mediate effects. Would to God it were not 
sometimes necessary, in order to accomplish 
results !" 

He paused, and I could somehow feel that 

100 



Recollections of General Scott. 

he was thoughtfully looking into the distance 
with the eyes of memory — scanning once more, 
perhaps, "The red sand of the battlefield, with 
bloody corses strewn." 

When, many years after this, I heard that 
General Sherman said, "War is hell", I thought 
of my conversation that day with Scott, just 
from his glorious victories. He was not so 
epigrammatic as his illustrious successor, but 
he meant the same thing. 

At the time General Scott and I were having 
our conversation, Sherman was an unknown 
adjutant in California, only twenty-eight years 
old. Neither he nor the hero of Lundy's Lane 
perhaps had any idea that in thirteen more 
short years, there would be a gigantic war in 
this country, the like of which had never been 
known ! 

I lost my dinner by the interview (the Gen- 
eral had had his lunch and would eat nothing), 
but felt well repaid, in the fact of having en- 
joyed a tete-a-tete with the greatest general 
America had thus far produced since the Revo- 
lution. 

A little madcap adventure occurred after 
we were seated on the stage, at which I 
often laugh, and wonder at my own temerity. 
There were by this time several public men of 
the city, who had gathered in to see what was 
going on, and among them an alderman, whom 
I had met before, and who had the regular 
aldermanic love for a joke. He whispered to 
me, and suggested that I pull General Scott's 
sword from the scabbard, and hold it up over 



lOI 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

his head in regular Damocletian style. "I will 
guide your hand to its hilt," he said, "and you 
can do the rest." More like a school-girl of 
fourteen than a staid lady teacher in her twen- 
ties, I drew the sword suddenly from its scab- 
bard, held it over his head, and on the impulse 
of the moment exclaimed, "General Scott, you 
are my prisoner!" 

I was startled at what I had done, and ap- 
prehensive of what might follow at the alder- 
man's odd and ill-timed joke, but was immedi- 
ately relieved in mind, when the grim old war- 
rior laughed good-naturedly, and replied, "I 
surrender at discretion. I always do, to the 
ladies. Now let me show you how to wield it." 
Which he did, guiding my arm with his huge 
soldierly hand. It was a simple incident, but 
one for a woman to remember as long as she 
lived. 

After the exercises were over, he said, play- 
fully : 

"Well, Miss Fanny, I suppose that the next 
I hear, some one will have picked you up and 
run off with you." 

I replied, thoughtlessly: 

"Oh, no, Mr. General ! Fm going to wait 
for the next President!" 

I said this forgetting that he had already 
been talked-about as a candidate for the office ; 
and my cheeks must have suddenly assumed 
a fiery red color when the fact occurred to me. 
But the General was safe, so far as any of us 
poor spinsters were concerned: he had thirty- 
one years before married the beautiful and ac- 

I02 



President Polkas Consideration. 

complished Miss Mayo, of Richmond, had 
always been noted as a very chivalrous and de- 
voted husband, and Mrs. Scott was still in 
excellent health. She was, however, not des- 
tined to grace the parlors of the White House 
as the first lady of the land; the General ran 
tor President on the Whig ticket a few years 
later, and, much to my sorrow, was defeated. 

President Polk twice gave us calls at our 
Institution in New York, once with his staff: 
and we felt very much acquainted with him. 
He was reserved in manner, if not austere : but 
evidently possessed the most genial of natures. 
His kindly disposition was proved, through the 
following little incident: 

Having been requested to show him some 
of the more interesting departments of the In- 
stitution, I was conducting him through one of 
the halls, when there came to our ears the 
voice of one of our old domestics, who had 
been away from us for some time, and had, 
evidently, just returned. 

With my usual impulsiveness, I asked the 
President to excuse me a moment, while I ran 
back and greeted the dear old servant, whom 
I very much loved, on account of many kind- 
nesses she had shown me at times I needed 
them most. 

Returning to him, I made many apologies 
for the seeming rudeness, explained the mat- 
ter as well as I could, and with burning cheeks, 
begged his pardon. His reply was soothing 
and reassuring, and convinced me that under 
his quiet exterior, was a sympathetic and gen- 

103 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

erous nature. "I am glad you went back, little 
girl," he said : "it shows that you have a kind 
heart, and a due appreciation of real worth." 

Of course everything was read up and talked 
up in our school, concerning the different peo- 
ple of distinction who visited us : and Presi- 
dent Polk's ancestry was ventilated from ''way 
back." When we found that the original fam- 
ily in Ireland was named "Pollock", we imme- 
diately wondered whether he was not some re- 
lation to Robert PoUok, author of "The 
Course of Time" — which we had heard read 
with great interest. Our genealogical enthu- 
siasm was, ere long, somewhat dampened by 
one of the teachers' discovering that the dis- 
tniguished Robert was a Scotchman, and 
spelled his name without a "c." I have since 
learned, however, that there are Scotch-Irish- 
men and Irish-Scotchmen ; and that names are 
occasionally modified in other countries, as 
well as our own, on their way through the 
generations. 



104 



CHAPTER XXL— 1848-1850. 
napoleon's faithful marshal, bertrand — 

A POEM OF WELCOME HOW HE WATCHED 

Bonaparte's life ebb away — laura bridg- 

MAN, and her sweetness of MAGNETISM — 

jenny lind comes and sings to the blind 
students her generosity the great 

AND ONLY BARNUM ALICE GARY A POEM 

FROM FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 

GENERAL HENRI GRATIEN BER- 
TRAND, on his trip to this country, 
made a visit to our Institution at 
about this time. We were all very much 
interested in him, because he was one of the 
few surviving men who knew and were near 
the person of Napoleon Bonaparte, during a 
large portion of his career. 

Bertrand was one of the bravest and most 
faithful of the ''Little Corporal's" aids, and in 
any ordinary war or series of wars, would have 
shone forth preeminent. But it took more- 
than-giants to do that in the vast Napoleonic 
conflicts, and Bertrand never ranked among 
the Neys, the Murats, and the McDonalds. 

We remembered, however, the fact that he 
had worked his way up from a captaincy of en- 
gineers, had been an efficient and constantly 

105 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

growing soldier through the Italian-Egyptian 
campaigns, and had participated in the beams 
of glory that came flashing upon the French 
at Austerlitz. We knew that after the disas- 
trous battle of Aspern, he restored the passage 
across the Danube for the French troops, and 
did much toward saving the Emperor's army; 
and that for this service he was made count, 
and governor of Illyria. We had heard that at 
the battle of Waterloo he helped restrain Na- 
poleon from rushing into certain death ; and 
that when his chief was exiled to St. Helena, ht. 
went with him, stayed there till he saw him die, 
and afterwards helped bring his body back to 
Paris, when, as Victor Hugo said, "an exiled 
coffin returned in triumph." He now lies near 
Napoleon in the gorgeous tomb at the Hotel 
des Invalides, Paris, under the famous gilded 
dome : many of my readers have no doubt seen 
his name there. 

When Bertrand came to see us, I was as 
usual deputed to write a poem of welcome ; 
and had the honor of reading it before him. 
In it I depicted him as sitting pensively with 
his head bowed upon his hands, seeing Napo- 
leon's life ebb away. 

"How did you know that?" he asked me, re- 
ferring to those lines, during our short con- 
versation. "How did you know that I was in 
that position?" 

"I did not 'know' it", I replied : "I merely 
imagined it." 

"It was just the way I did sit, through all 
that fearful night, until I saw Napoleon's eyes 

io6 



Visits with Laura Bridgman. 

close, and knew that he was gone", replied 
Bertrand. 

He seemed somehow to have detected in the 
poem a little higher praise of himself than of his 
royal master; and perhaps felt more re- 
sentment than gratitude at the fact. He 
asked me if I were not an admirer of Na- 
poleon. '*I admired him as a soldier'\ I replied, 
and stopped, only telHng half the truth. He 
did not press the question any farther, and 
the interview soon came to an end. 

Indeed, while I recognized the bravery and 
faithfulness of General Bertrand, I could not 
help wishing all the time that his efforts had 
been put forth in the service of some better 
chief; and it may be that fragments of that 
thought became mingled with the poem. 

From the contemplation of war and warriors, 
the step to dear sweet Laura Bridgman is a 
long one, but most grateful. I well remember 
the first time I met her. It was in Washington : 
and I had heard so much about her and her 
wonderful achievements, that she seemed to 
me fully as much of a curiosity as anybody in 
the great national capital. I knew that at the 
age of two years she had lost her sight, her 
hearing, and her speech ; and that the senses of 
touch and smell were also considerably im- 
paired. She was given her first instruction at 
the age of eight, by the well-known Dr. Howe. 
He could communicate with her only by the 
touch of the fingers ; and his first effort was to 
make her understand the analogy between ob- 
jects and the words representing them. She 

107 



Fanny Crosby^s Life-Story. 

finally commenced to understand what was 
wanted, and to recognize the words, produced 
in raised letters. Then the letters were dis- 
arranged ; she was taught to put them back in 
their proper places, and in this way learned to 
spell. 

It took her some time to realize that here 
was a means through which she could commu- 
nicate with her fellow-beings, but when she 
did, her happiness is said to have been pa- 
thetic. After this she soon learned the manual 
alphabet, and by degrees acquired as much 
miscellaneous knowledge as most people whom 
she met. She took lessons on the piano, and 
became a skilful performer ; could do fine 
needle-work, and attend efficiently to many 
household duties. 

A girl who, though deaf, dumb, and blind, 
could do all these things (and many others, of 
more importance) was certainly a wonder : and 
in whatever circle she moved, Laura Bridg- 
man was "the observed of all observers." 

She was fully aware of these facts, for every- 
thing said about her was faithfully reported by 
her comrades in the party, through the means 
of their nimble and talkative fingers ; but she 
continued as modest and sensible as ever, and 
did not show the least undue pride in her suc- 
cess as a public character. She soon became 
very intimate with many of her New York 
friends, and one of my sweetest recollections 
i«5 of her, sitting upon my lap, twining her arms 
around my neck, and then spelling out for me 
the name, "Little Fan" — to distinguish me 

io8 



Jenny Lind Visits Us. 

from another one of our band, who bore the 
same given name as myself, and was larger in 
size. 

But words, with us, were hardly needed : we 
could almost understand each other's thoughts 
by the magnetism that flashed between us. I 
do not remember a sweeter personality than 
Laura Bridgman's. 

When Jenny Lind came to this country, in 
1850, one of the first places she visited, was our 
Institution ; and a very pleasant memory is the 
beautiful music and the cordial hand-shakings 
she gave us. She had already conquered Eu- 
rope with the melody of her voice and the good- 
ness of her heart ; and all America was wild 
to hear her. The first concert at which she 
appeared in New York netted her $10,000; and 
she immediately donated the entire sum to 
charity. 

This, of course, made her much more popu- 
lar than ever; for there are few things that 
people like better, than to get value received 
for their money, and then have it paid back to 
them. 

We tried hard to induce the gentle cantatrice 
to make us a speech ; but this she declined to 
attempt, although having a very good com- 
mand of English. She sang for us, however, 
again and again. And such singing! 

Of course, during this particular time, 
wherever Jenny Lind went, the great and in- 
evitable Barnum followed not far behind. I 
knew him exceedingly well, and can say that 
with all his shrewdness, he had many kind and 

109 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

generous traits of character. This conundrum 
used to be printed and reprinted in the news- 
papers of that date : 

"Why are Jenny Lind and Barnum well cal- 
culated always to agree, and never have any 
difficulty? — Because one is always for giving, 
and the other is always for getting!" 

But Barnum made many munificent dona- 
tions — which were of no less benefit to the 
world, though partly advertisements. 

Among the sweet memories of the past, is 
that of Alice Gary, with whom I corresponded 
for a time, and from whom I had many a pleas- 
ant word of cheer. I used also to have letters 
from Frances Ridley Havergal; and well re- 
member how delighted I was, once, at receiv- 
ing a poem from her, dedicated to me, which 
read as follows : 

AN ENGLISH TRIBUTE TO FANNY CROSBY. 

Sweet blind singer over the sea, 

Tuneful and jubilant, how can it be 

That the songs of gladness, which float so far, 

As if they fell from the evening star, 

Are the notes of one who never may see 

"Visible music" of flower and tree. 

Purple of mountain, or glitter of snow, 

Ruby and gold of the sunset glow, 

And never the light of a loving face? 

Must not the world be a desolate place 

For eyes that are sealed with the seal of years, 

Eyes that are open only for tears? 

How can she sing in the dark like this? 

What is her fountain of light and bliss ? 

no 



Poem from Frances Ridley Haver gal. 

Oh, her heart can see, her heart can see ! 
And its sight is strong and swift and free ; 
Never the ken of mortal eye 
Could pierce so deep and far and high 
As the eagle-vision of hearts that dwell 
In the lofty, sunlit citadel 
Of faith that overcomes the world, 
With banners of hope and joy unfurled, 
Garrisoned with God's perfect peace. 
Ringing with paeans that never cease. 
Flooded with splendor bright and broad — 
The glorious light of the love of God ! 

Her heart can see, her heart can see ! 
Well may she sing so joyously! 
For the King Himself, in His tender grace, 
Hath shown her the brightness of His face ; 
And who shall pine for a glow-worm light 
When the sun goes forth in his radiant might -^ 
She can read His law as a shining chart. 
For His finger hath written it on her heart ; 
She can read His love, for on all her way 
His hand is writing it every day. 
"Bright cloud", indeed, must that darkness be. 
Where "Jesus only" the heart can see ! 

Her heart can see, her heart can see. 
Beyond the glooms and the mystery. 
Glimpses of glory not far away, 
Nearing and brightening day by day : 
Golden crystal and emerald bow, 
Lustre of pearl and sapphire glow. 
Sparkling river and healing tree. 
Evergreen palms of victory, 

III 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Harp and crown and raiment white, 
Holy and beautiful dwellers in light; 
A throne, and One thereon, whose face 
Is the glory of that glorious place ! 

Dear blind sister over the sea, 
An English heart goes forth to thee ! 
We are linked by a cable of faith and song, 
Flashing bright sympathy swift along; 
One in the east and one in the west, 
Singing for Him whom our souls love best ; 
''Singing for Jesus", telHng His love. 
All the way to our home above. 
Where the severing sea, with its restless tide, 
Never shall hinder, and never divide. 
Sister, what will our meeting be, 
When our hearts shall sing and our eyes shall 
see! 



112 





STARTING FOR A l^ECTURE. 



CHAPTER XXIL— 1850-1868. 

SECULAR SONGS CANTATAS MEET MR. BRAD- 
BURY ENGAGE TO WRITE HYMNS LIFE- 
WORK DISCOVERED A DREAM-VISION 

DEATH AND FUNERAL OF MR. BRADBURY 

THE MYSTERIOUS VOICE NOM-DE-PLUMES. 

DURING the fifties and sixties, I wrote 
the words of several songs, which be- 
came popular, and continued so for 
many years. 

One of these was ''Rosalie, the Prairie Flow- 
er" ; another was "Glad to Get Home"; an- 
other "Proud World, Good-bye" ; and still an- 
other, "There's Music in the Air," These were 
set to notes by George F. Root, and sold in 
thousands of copies in sheet music and other 
forms, throughout the country. 

Several cantatas also constituted part of my 
pen-work during this time. Among these 
were "The Flower Queen" and "The Pilgrim 
Fathers" — the music of the latter having been 
composed jointly by George F. Root and 
Lowell Mason. 

But in 1864 commenced the real and most 
important work of my life, so far as poetry 
was concerned. In that year, the late Peter 
Stryker, one of the most excellent of men, in- 

113 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

troduced me to William B. Bradbury, who was 
already famous as a writer of hymn-music. 

Mr. Bradbury received me with a cordiality 
that made me feel immediately that we could 
work together: poet and composer cannot al- 
ways do that. ''For many years, I have been 
wanting you to write for me," he said, "but 
somehow could not get opportunity to talk 
with you on the subject. I wish you would 
begin, right away." 

It now seemed to me as if the great work of 
my life had really begun: and I commenced 
the delicious toil which, with an occasional 
pause for rest, I have continued ever since. 

If at any time I have been tempted to leave 
this work, and turn my poetical efforts in other 
directions, I have invariably been brought 
back and spurred to fresh vigor, by the mem- 
ory of a dream that I had, not long before my 
taking of this, what seemed to me a sacred, trust. 

It was really more than a dream- — more even 
than a vision : it was a kind of reality — with 
my senses all at their fullest, though the body 
was asleep. 

I was in an immense observatory, and be- 
fore me the largest telescope I had ever im- 
agined. I could see everything plainly (for, in 
my most vivid dreams, the sense of sight ap- 
pears fully restored). Looking in the direction 
pointed out by my friend, I saw a very bright 
and captivating star, and was gradually carried 
toward it — past other stars, and any amount 
of celestial scenery that I have not strength 
even to describe. 



Writing with William B. Bradbury. 

At last we came to a river, and paused there. 
''May I not go on?" I asked of my guide. "Not 
now, Fanny", was the reply. "You must re- 
turn to the earth and do your work there, be- 
fore you enter those sacred bounds; but ere 
you go, I will have the gates opened a little 
way, so you can hear one burst of the eternal 
music." 

Soon there came chords of melody such as 
I never had supposed could exist anywhere: 
the very recollection of it thrills me. And in 
the writing of my hymns, the memory of that 
journey toward the star, always cheers and in- 
spires me. 

The first one I wrote for Mr. Bradbury, was 
the hymn that begins : 

"We are going, we are going. 
To a home beyond the skies. 

Where the roses never wither. 
And the sunlight never dies." " 

Others followed, in rapid succession; and 
for four years, almost until the date of my as- 
sociate's death, we continued to work together 
in that capacity. Three volumes of hymns — 
each containing from thirty to forty of mine 
—were published by Mr. Bradbury. Of 
all these, perhaps the one having the widest 
circulation, was that which contained the 
hymn beginning: 

"There's a cry from Macedonia." 

As I often composed as many as six or 
seven hymns in one day, there were more of 

115 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

them in the aggregate than Mr. Bradbury 
could set to music ; and the late Philip Phillips, 
a most genial and lovable man, took several of 
them for his own compositions. 

From this large number of hymns that I 
composed, selections were made : some were 
put aside and never used. I made no pretense 
of being able to do this selecting myself — it 
was always performed by others ; and I often 
find myself wondering whether some hymn 
may not have been suppressed, that was of 
real merit, while others less worthy, were put 
to the fore. One cannot always determine at 
first sight, concerning products of the pen, 
which will most forcibly strike the public mind 
and heart. 

But Mr. Bradbury was not strong, physical- 
ly ; and in 1868 he died. "I know I am not go- 
ing to live very long," he used to say: *'but, 
Fanny, you must take up the work where I 
leave it." 

At his funeral, in Montclair, N, J., the first 
hymn sung was that with which we had com- 
menced our work together — 

**We are going, we are going. 
To a home beyond the skies." 

It is needless to say that the exercises af- 
fected me more deeply than almost anything I 
had ever experienced. As I stood for a minute 
by the casket which held the honored dead, I 
could not refrain from sobs and tears ; but all 
at once I heard a clear beautiful voice from 
the congregation, saying: 

116 



Different Names Used. 

"Fanny, pick up the work where Mr. Brad- 
bury leaves it; take your harp from the willow, 
and dry your tears." 

I could never learn who spoke these words, 
although there were several others who dis- 
tinctly heard them ; but they came to my ears 
very plainly, and I can hear them now. 

"We see so many of your hymns in our 
books!" often say new friends to me: "How- 
many you must have written!" But they are 
often not aware that hundreds more — not with 
my name attached, but bearing different nom- 
de-plumes, are from my pen. I cannot now 
even remember all the different names, over 
a hundred in number, I have used ; but among 
them are "Mrs. E. A. Andrew", "Ella Dale" 
"Julia Stirling", "Victoria Francis", "Victoria 
Stewart", "Lyman Cuyler", "Charles Bruce", 
"Lizzie Edwards", "Grace I. Francis", "Sally 
M. Smith", "Henrietta Blain", "Myra Judson" 
"Charles Burns", "Alice Monteith", "James 
M. Black", "Frank Gould", "Jennie Garnett", 
•Victoria Stirling", "Carrie M. Wilson", 
Maud Marion", etc., etc. 

Among many other incidents connected 
W3th my hymns, is one related to me by Mr. 
Ira B. Sankey, who has long been, and is still, 
one of my dearest friends. When he was in 
Edinburgh, an old Scotch woman came to him, 
and said she wanted to thank him for writing 
"Safe in the Arms of Jesus." "But I didn't 
write it," replied Mr. Sankey : "that was Fanny 
Crosby" ; — and he sat down and told her about 
me. 

117 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

"Weel," said the old lady, when he was 
through, ''when ye gang back to America, gie 
hei my love, an' tell her an auld Scots woman 
sends her blessing. The last hymn my daugh- 
ter sang before she died, was that one." 

There are many other hymns that have been 
widely used, and concerning which I could re- 
late many (to me) interesting reminiscences. 
Among these are "Rescue the Perishing", 
"Speed Away", "Pass Me Not", 'T Am Thine", 
etc., etc. 

I am sometimes asked how many hymns I 
have written in my lifetime. This question I 
am unable to answer accurately; but am safe 
in saying that the number reaches over five 
thousand. 

I may be able, some time, to remember the 
names of all those who have done my hymns 
the honor of setting them to music, but have 
not the leisure just at present. If there should 
be subsequent editions of this book, I can per- 
haps include them. Besides those already 
mentioned and to be mentioned, stand out 
prominently Prof. H. R. Palmer and Mr. 
Hubert P. Main — both of whom are among 
my friends still living. 



ii8 



CHAPTER XXIII.— 1853-1^93. 

GROVER CLEVELAND AS A YOUNG MAN — HIS 
GRIEF AT HIS FATHER'S DEATH — HIS INDUS- 
TRY AND DEVOTION TO HIS STUDIES — DISPO- 
SITION TO HELP OTHERS — COPIES POEMS FOR 
ME — UPBRAIDED BY SUPERINTENDENT — GRO- 
VER's advice — SOME PLAIN PROSE — NO 
MORE TROUBLE — PLEASANT ACQUAINTANCE 
WITH HIM AFTER HE HAD SERVED AS PRESI- 
DENT. 

IN 1853, our head teacher, Prof. William 
Cleveland, was called to New Jersey by 
the death of his father, a Presbyterian 
clergyman. After a few days' absence, 
he returned, bringing with him his brother, a 
youth of sixteen; and the next morning after- 
ward he came to consult me in regard to "the 
boy." 

**Grover has taken our father's death very 
much to heart," he said, "and I wish you would 
go into the office, where I have installed him- 
as clerk, and talk with him, once in a while." 

So I went down as requested, and was in- 
troduced to the young man — not dreaming, of 
course, that I was conversing with one destined 
to be twice elected to the chief magistracy of 
our nation. 



119 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

We talked together unreservedly about his 
father's death, and a bond of friendship sprung 
up between us, which was strengthened b}^ sub- 
sequent interviews. He seemed a very gentle, 
but intensely ambitious boy, and I felt that 
there were great things in store for him — al- 
though, as above intimated, there was no 
thought in my mind that he would ever be 
chosen from among the millions of this coun- 
try, to be its President. 

Whether the death of his father had settled 
his mind into a serious view, or whether it was 
because industry and perseverance were nat- 
ural to him, i do not know : but think each ot 
these influences bore a part toward directing 
his actions. 

He very seldom went out to a party or en- 
tertainment with others of the same age: but 
remained in his room, working away at his 
books. I am told that during his entire career, 
this faculty of hard and almost incessant work, 
has been one of his most valuable aids. 

Among other very pleasant characteristics 
which I noticed in him, was a disposition to 
help others, whenever possible. Knowing that 
it was a great favor to me to have my poems 
copied neatly and legibly, he ofifered to per- 
form that service for me : and I several times 
availed myself of his aid. 

One day, just as he had finished transcribing 
from my memory a poem somewhat longer 
than usual, the man who was superintendent 
at that time came suddenly into the office. 
This was not the same gentleman who had 

1 20 



Grover Cleveland's Advice. 

greeted me so kindly upon my arrival, and 
given me such good advice: but a successor, 
vfho, although wishing no doubt to do his 
duty, was unable at times to control his temper. 

Seeing at a glance what young Mr. Grover 
Cleveland had been doing for me, he remon- 
strated, violently : gave me to understand that 
the clerks in the office had other work to do, 
than to copy my poetry; and hurried out of, 
the room. 

The whole afifair occurred in such a whirl- 
wind of bad humor, that I was dumbfounded, 
and did not know what to say or how to act. 
I was conscious of having done no harm in 
allowing the young man to write down my 
poetry for me, and knew not whether to rave, 
or to adopt the good old feminine remedy of 
indulging in a few straightforward tears. 

To my great surprise, young Mr. Cleveland 
broke into a low but very decided laugh. *'We 
are entirely within our rights, Fanny," he ex- 
plained, "and he had no business to interrupt 
or reproach us. Tomorrow, at this time, come 
down here with another poem; I will copy it 
for you; he will step into the office again, as 
he generally does at this time ; he will no doubt 
'start in' to administer to you another 'going 
over' ; and then, if I were you, I would give 
him a few paragraphs of plain prose, that he 
would not very soon forget." 

The whole event turned as Grover had fore- 
told. The superintendent came in, just as the 
young man was finishing up another poem; 
and commenced a second series of reproaches. 

121 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

But I had my "prose" all ready : and impart- 
ed it to the gentleman at once. I reminded 
him, in as mild a voice as I could, but as firm 
a one as was necessary, under the circum- 
stances, that I was a teacher there, and had 
rights, as well as he ; that my poems had been 
used largely for the benefit of the Institution, 
and that the reciting of them had not been 
without its mission in calling new students to 
us : that under such circumstances, I should 
claim the help of the attaches of the school, 
whenever they were willing to give it, without 
neglecting other duties; and that if he ever 
referred to the subject again, I should ask the 
trustees what they thought about it. 

"You will never have any more trouble with 
him", laughed young Mr. Cleveland, the next 
time we met. 

This prediction proved true : the same sa- 
gacity that has since been used in the manipu- 
lation of cabinets and councils, had, almost in 
its very beginnings, come to the aid of a poor 
blind teacher. 

I have since had the privilege of a very pleas- 
ant acquaintance with my boy-amanuensis : I 
have traced him through the different offices 
in which he has been entrusted with the public 
interests of his fellow-countrymen; have been 
at his home, been greeted by his sweet and ac- 
complished wife, and held his children in my 
arms ; and have always found him, in spirit, the 
same modest, sensible boy, that copied my 
poems years ago. 



122 



CHAPTER XXIV.— 1893-1903. 

THE MAKING OF A HYMN THE "hYMN-WORK- 

SHOP" — "moods" in writing — "building" a 

MOOD beginning WITH PRAYER MEASURE 

AND TUNE WRITING TO AN AIR THE BOOKS 

OF THE MIND HYMNS WAITING FOR THEIR 

MATES. 

TRUE hymns may be said, in one sense, to 
make themselves; ahhough they must 
be given human instruments through 
which to work. No one should ever 
attempt to write a hymn, unless the ideas flow 
easily and naturally. But how is this to be 
brought about? — Some details of personal ex- 
perience may not be uninteresting to the read- 
ers of this book — nearly all of whom are likely 
to be more or less interested in the subject. 

"Take us into the hymn-workshop or labora- 
tory", friends sometimes say to me. "Let us 
know your processes of thought, of feeling, of 
accomplishment. Give us the steps you em- 
ploy, as nearly as possible, in constructing a 
hymn." 

Well, I will, as accurately as I can. Maybe 
this chapter will inspire others to write sacred 
songs that shall do good in the future. 

There is a great deal said nowadays, and I 

123 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story, 

do not know but there always has been, about 
"moods" in writing. There is much truth in 
the doctrine. There are some days, or at least 
hours, when I could not compose a hymn if the 
world were laid at my feet as a promised 
recompense. Fancy writing verses when one 
has that ''hell of a' diseases", as Robbie Burns 
called it, the toothache ! The silent cry of the 
suffering molar would run through it all. Im- 
agine yourself trying to get into sweet accord 
with Heaven while your nerves were suffering 
from neuralgia! It could not be done. Sick 
people have written good poetry, but I fancy 
it was in their intervals of partial convales- 
cence. 

I am not subject to very many unpleasant 
sensations on account of ill health : the good 
Lord has given me a sound constitution, and 
a body which, though not particularly strong 
in appearance, is fitted to endure. But there 
are times when I am not in the mood to write, 
and when, as I said above, it would not be pos- 
sible for me immediately to compose a hymn. 

So what would I do, if it were necessary 
or highly desirable that a hymn be written on 
a certain day or night : as, for some occasion, 
or some work soon to be published? — If I 
v/ere not in the mood to write, I would build 
a mood — or, try to draw one around me. 

I should sit alone, as I have done on many 
a day and night, praying God to give me the 
thoughts and the feelings wherewith to com- 
pose my hymn. After a time — perhaps not 
unmingled with struggle — the ideas would 

124 



Methods of Work. 

come, and I would soon be happy in my verse. 

It may seem a little old-fashioned, always to X 
begin one's work with prayer: but I never 
undertake a hymn without first asking the 
good Lord to be my inspiration in the work 
that I am about to do. 

Although, of course, I cannot read a printed 
book, having been deprived of sight almost 
from birth, yet, while composing, I feel hap- 
pier and more at ease, if I hold a small volume 
in my hand. This may be a matter of habit : 
during my many years of teaching, I always 
kept a small book in my hands ; and in reciting 
my own poems to audiences, I follow the same 
method. 

When at last I have arrived at the proper 
stage of thought and feeling, and am sure that 
I am in condition to reach the minds and 
hearts of my constituency, and sing to them 
something worthy for them to hear, I cast 
about, for a few minutes, as to the measure, 
and, possibly, the tune. 

Much more depends upon this, than might 
at first seem to be the case. For if there is a 
false accent or a mistake in the metre, the 
hymn cannot stand much chance of proving a 
success ; or at least its possibilities are very 
much lessened. Among the millions of hymns 
that have been sung and forgotten, many con- 
tain no doubt deep and pious thought and feel- 
ing, but have been crippled and killed by the 
roughness of some line, or the irregularity of 
one or more measures. 

Often I take in my mind some tune already 

125 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

well known, as a model, or, perhaps, more ac- 
curately speaking, as a guide, and work to it. 
This, however, does not imply that the tune 
will ultimately be chosen as the companion of 
the words : for it has probably already its own 
true and lawful mate, with which it is to be 
happy and useful. Sometimes a tune is fur- 
nished me for which to write the words. 

"Blessed Assurance" was made in this man- 
ner. My dear friend, Mrs. Joseph F. Knapp, 
so well known as a writer and singer of most 
exquisite music, and as an aid and inspiration 
to all who know her, had composed the tune, 
and it seemed to me one of the sweetest I 
had heard for a long time. She asked me to 
write a hymn for it, and I felt, while bringing 
the words and tones together, that the air and 
the hymn were intended for each other. In 
the many hundred times that I have heard it 
sung, this opinion has been more and more 
confirmed. 

After any particular hymn is done, I let it lie 
for a few days in the writing-desk of my mind, 
so to speak, until I have leisure to prune it, to 
read it through with the eyes of my memory, 
and in other ways mould it into as presentable 
shape as possible. I often cut, trim, and 
change it. 

"How can you remember a hymn?" I am 
often asked. To this I need only reply that 
recollecting is not entirely a lost art, although 
we live in rushing days of memorandum- 
tablets and carefully kept journals and ledgers. 
The books of the mind are just as real and tan- 

126 



Storehouse of the Memory. 

gible as those of the desk and the library- 
shelves — if we only will use them enough to 
keep their binding flexible, and their pages free 
from dust. 

I have no trouble in sorting and arranging 
my literary and lyric wares within the apart- 
ments of my mind. If I were given a little 
while in which to do it, I could take down from 
its shelves, hundreds if not thousands of 
hymns, that I have written during the sixty 
years in which I have been praising my Re- 
deemer through this medium of song. Do not 
let go to decay and ruin those vast interior re- 
gions of thought and feeling, good brother or 
sister! Your memory would be much to you 
if you were ever deprived of some of the or- 
gans of sense that now so distract you from 
deep and continued thought. 

After the hymn is finished, and transcribed 
by some friend, it generally waits for its tune, 
and steadfastly hopes that it will succeed in 
making a matrimonial alliance, and a good 
one. I have had the advantage, for the most 
part, of very sympathetic and talented com- 
posers. 

After Mr. Bradbury's death, I wrote many 
hymns for W. H. Doane, who composed much 
beautiful music. One day he came to me hur- 
riedly, and exclaimed: 'Tanny, I have just 
forty minutes to catch the cars for Cincinnati ; 
during that time you must write me a hymn, 
and give me a few minutes to catch the train." 

I happened to be in a good mood for writing ; 
he hummed the melody to which he wanted 

127 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

the words written; and in fifteen minutes I 
gave them to him, and he started away. Upon 
his arrival home, he published them; and I 
h^ive been told upon good authority that the 
hymn is now sung wherever Christian music 
is known. Many of the readers of this book 
no doubt, are familiar with it. It begins as 
follows : 

''Safe in the arms of Jesus, 

Safe on his gentle breast. 
There by his love o'ershadowed. 

Sweetly my soul shall rest." 

The writing of the hymn, "All the Way My 
Saviour Leads Me", was the result of a bit of 
personal experience. One day, I wanted the 
modestly substantial amount of five dollars for 
a particular purpose, and needed it very bad- 
ly. I did not know, just then, exactly how to 
get it: and was led in my mind to pray for it. 
Somehow, I knew the good Lord would give 
it to me if I asked him for it — though exactly 
how, I did not know. 

Not long after I had prayed for the money, 
a gentleman came into the house, "passed the 
time of day", shook hands with me, and went 
out immediately. When I closed my hand, 
after the friendly salutation, I found in it a 
five-dollar bill, which he had left there. 

I have no way to account for this, except to 
believe that God, in answer to my prayer, put 
it into the heart of this good man, to bring me 
the money. 

My first thought, after finding out the pe- 

128 




BEFORE AN AUDIENCE. 



Dr. Loivry Sets Hymn to Music. 

cuniary value of this little silken reminder of 
friendship and regard, was, 

"In what a wonderful way the Lord helps 
me ! All the way my Saviour leads me !" 

I immediately wrote the hymn, and Dr. 
Robert Lowry, the famous clergyman-hymn- 
writer, set it to music. 

I could mention here, many and many a 
case, in which I have had direct answer to 
prayer. I have never had the least reason to 
doubt the practical usefulness of that promise 
that if we ask we shall receive. Our Saviour 
is so willing not only to lead us, but to supply 
our wants, if we will only ask him ! 



129 



CHAPTER XXV.— 1900. 

A POEM BY WILL CARLETON. 

WHILE I was visiting at the home 
of my constant and loving friends, 
Mr. and Mrs. Will Carleton, in 
Brooklyn, New York, on my 
eightieth birthday Mr. Carleton wrote the fol- 
lowing poem, which I insert here, not from 
vanity, I am sure my readers will believe, but 
with a desire to place on record my happiness 
at some of the kind things that have been said 
about me. 

Song-bird in the dark, 
Adding each day unto our lyric treasure, 

And rising, like the lark, 
Nearer to heaven for each ecstatic measure : 

Sing on, O rich, clear voice, 
'Mid the world's clamor for the world's pos- 
session ; 
Thou art the angels' choice 
To give their sweetest anthems earth-expres- 
sion! 

Love on, O gentle heart. 
To all mankind with stately pureness clinging; 



Poem by Will Carleton. 

The followers of thy art, 
With lips devout caress thee in their singing! 

In myriad temples grand, 
Through whose broad aisles the organ-tones 
are pealing, 

Thy words walk hand in hand 
With truths the rich-bound Bible is revealing. 

By many a cottage door, 
Where Faith and Love w4th Poverty are dwell- 
ing. 

Thy sweet words, o'er and o'er. 
The mother to her new-found babe is telling. 

Where arctic snow-storms sweep. 
Where tropic ghosts a hand to death are reach- 
ing, 
Thy jeweled words still keep 
Their tryst with God, and aid His solemn 
teaching. 

Song-bird in the light. 
Thou shalt see splendors when this worlB's 
have faded ! 
E'en now thy path is bright 
With stars in heaven, whose kindling thou hast 
aided. 

Yearn on, O lofty soul. 
Though voices from the song-land intercede 
thee! 
Spurn not this earth's control 
Yet many years : our suffering mortals need 
thee. 

131 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

But when at last The King 
Shall bid thy friends above to cease their wait- 
ing, 

The angel-choirs will sing, 
To welcome thee, some hymn of thy creating. 

And Christ will be thy guide, 
Confirming, step by step. His wondrous story ; 

And seek the Father's side, 
And say, "She taught the world to sing Thy 
glory." 



132 



CHAPTER XXVL— 1843-1903. 

OLDEST AND NEWEST HYMNS. 

I AM often asked, ''Do you write as many 
hymns as ever?" Perhaps not, quite: but 
this is owing to the fact that I spend so 
much time visiting churches in different 
parts of the country, and speaking, and read- 
ing my poems to audiences. 

My relations with Christian Endeavor So- 
cieties, and Young Men's Christian Associa- 
tions, are also very intimate and friendly : and 
I often address them. I wear a gold badge of 
membership, presented me by one of the Rail- 
road Branches of the Y. M. C. A. 

I include in this chapter some of my earliest 
and some of my latest hymns : others can 
be found in various hymn-books. In one of 
those here published, it will be noticed, words 
and music are both by myself : but I have here- 
tofore been content to write the words, and let 
others furnish the music. This is the only 
case in which I have departed from the rule. 

While writing my earlier poems, I did not 
attempt hymns : although my mind was often 
drawn in that direction. I greatly admired 
the grand productions of Watts, Wesley, 
Montgomery, and others : but it did not then 

133 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

occur to me that I could write hymns that 
people would care to sing. 

Everything in this world is progressive, and 
courage and ambition are no exception to the 
rule. I seem to have been led, little by little, 
toward my life-work. 

Often, in those early days, would come over 
me the inclination to write hymns : but I re- 
sisted it, or, what amounted to about the same 
thing, let it go by default. 

Still, as the sweetness and grandeur of the 
religion of our Saviour sank into my heart, I 
felt more and more like putting my feelings 
into rhythm. And, if my friends will pardon 
me for perhaps giving the matter too much im- 
portance, I will say, that the following stanzas, 
one of the few distinctly religious poems of 
my first book, constituted my first hymn : 

EVENING HYMN. 

Ps. IV: 8 — "I will both lay me down in peace 
and sleep; for thou, Lord, only, makest me to dzvell 
in safety." 

Drawn is the curtain of the night. 

Oh 'tis the sacred hour of rest ; 
Sweet hour, I hail thee with delight, 

Thrice welcome to my weary breast. 

O God to thee my fervent prayer, 

I ofifer, kneeling at thy feet; 
Tho' humbly breathed, O deign to hear — 

Smile on me from the mercv seat ! 

While angels round their watches keep, 
134 



Easter Sunday. 

Whose harps thy praise unceasing swell, 
"I lay me down in peace and sleep", 
For thou in safety mak'st me dwell. 

Drawn is the curtain of the night. 

Thou bid'st creation silent be, 
And now, with holy calm delight. 

Father, I would commune with thee. 

Shepherd of Israel, deign to keep 
And guard my soul from every ill ; 

Thus will I lay me down, and sleep. 
For thou in safety mak'st me dwell. 

The following is, so far as I can remember, 
my second hymn : 

EASTER SUNDAY. 

Hail, sacred morn ! When from the tomb 

The son of God arose ; 
''Captivity he captive led". 

And triumphed o'er his foes. 

Rejoice! O holy church, rejoice! 

Awake thy noblest strain ! 
Put ofif thy weeds of mourning, now. 

The Saviour lives again. 

Oh let thy loud hosannas reach 

The portals of the sky. 
Where angels tune their gentle harps, 

And heavn'ly choirs reply. 

Glory to God — He ever lives 

To plead our cause above ; 
He — He is worthy to receive 

All honor, power, and love. 

135 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Hail, mighty King! — we at thy feet 

Our grateful homage pay; 
Accept the humble sacrifice 

And wash our sins away. 

Then, at the resurrection morn, 
When the last trump shall sound, 

May we awake to life anew, 
And with thy saints be found. 

Another attempt at distinctively sacred 
poetry, made about this same time, and which 
may be considered my third hymn, was as 
follows : 

CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

How tranquil, how serene the night, 

When to the sleepy earth, 
A heavenly host of seraphs bright. 

Proclaimed a Saviour's birth ! 

The shepherds on Judea's plains, 
With wonder heard their songs : 

''Glory to God! to Him alone, 
Our highest praise belongs ! 

"Glory to God !" — through Heaven's broad 
arch, 

The sacred chorus ran : 
"Good will, and never-ending peace. 

Henceforth to mortal man. 

"Glory to God! let all the earth. 

To Him their honors bring, 
And every heart, and every tongue. 

His praise responsive sing !" 

136 



Only Hymn Set to Music by Self. 



The following are from some of my newest 
hymns, and, in relation to those given, repre- 
sent an interval of perhaps sixty years— durmg 
which time I have almost constantly been busy 
writing hymns of varying merit: 

SPRING HYMN. 
Words and Music by Fanny Crosby. 



1 The winds have ceased tbeir luoau ing. The win - tet- storms have passed ; 

2 The world is full ol sun -sUine. Tbe birds are on .the wmg, 




The ln*e - It face of Na - ture Is wreathed in smiles at last. 
J-rom dii - taut climes ther hast - eu To -greet the gen - tie spring. 




The pearl - y streams no Ion 
Tbere's mu - sic in the for 



ger In 
est, A 



i - cy chains are bound; 
mid the branch-es fair; 




The raountiins glow with ver - dnrc 
TUere's mu - sic in the val - ley. 



The hills with joy re - sound. 
And bean- ty ev - ery where. 



O thou whose love beholdeth 
The world thy hand hath maae. 

Creator, Lord. Redeemer, 

..'in majesty arrayed! 

We praise thee for the spring time, 
And all. Us golden hours. 

For lake and sparkling fountain. 
For sunshine, birds, and flowei%. 



And when thy voice shall call us 

To yonder blissful shore. 
Where spring abldeth ever 

And winter comes no more,. 
Beside ther.crystal river. 

Among the ransomed throng. 
We'll blend our harps triumphani 

In one eternal song. 



137 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

While at a meeting of the "Farther Lights", 
at the residence of Mrs. Will Carleton, the 
Founder of the Society, I was elected a mem- 
ber, and a badge of the Order was pinned upon 
me. This, I was proud to know, took place 
in the very parlor where occurred the first 
meeting of Farther Lights ever held. 

I was inspired to write a hymn for these 
loved sisters in the missionary-cause ; and soon 
sent them the following: 

SPEED ON, O light! 

Speed on thy glorious mission, 

light of purest love. 

Whose radiant beams were kindled 

In Edenland above; 
Speed on where those that languish 

In sorrow's dreary nights, 
Shall feel the joy thou bringest. 

And hail the Farther Lights ! 

O band of Christian workers, 

With whom I oft have met. 

Whose voices kind and gentle 

1 hear in memory yet — 
In this my prayer ascending 

My inmost soul unites — 
God bless the Christian circle 
We call the Farther Lights ! 



God bless your heartfelt labor. 
My youthful sisters dear. 



138 



The World for Christ. 

And grant you strength and courage 
Through grace to persevere; 

Till India's happy greeting 
With Afric's song unites; 

While on the flaming watch-tower 
Still shine the Farther Lights! 



THE WORLD FOR CHRIST— A NEW-YEAR RALLY- 
ING SONG. 

Air, "From Greenland's Icy Mountains^ 

Arise, O Christian soldiers, 

And consecrate anew 
Your all upon the altar. 

Of Him who died for you ! 
Arise in faith united, 

And let this year record 
Your undivided service, 

To Christ, our risen Lord ! 

Oh, rally 'round His standard ; 

Defend the cross you love ; 
And look to Him for wisdom 

And counsel from above. 
Against the arch deceiver. 

Against the host of sin, 
March on with steady purpose 

The world for Christ to wm ! 



Be strong, O Christian soldiers,. 
On Jesus cast your care ! 



139 



Fanny Crosby^s Life-Story. 

And when the conflict rages 
Let ev'ry breath be prayer. 

Fear not ; the Lord is with you : 
'Tis He who speaks within ; 

March on with zeal and courage 
The world for Christ to win ! 

Go forth, go forth rejoicing, 

And in the Master's name, 
To weary souls that perish, 

Eternal life proclaim ! 
The crowning day is coming; 

The end of toil and sin ; 
March on through grace determined 

The world for Christ to win ! 



CHRIST HATH RISEN. 

Airs, "St. George''; "Mary to Vie Saviour's 

Tomb." 

Still and silent as the night, 
Holy angels robed in light 
Came and rolled the stone away. 
From the tomb where Jesus lay. 
Backward, trembling, pale with dread, 
Lo, the arch-deceiver fled. 
When the Prince of Life arose, 
Mighty Conqueror o'er His foes ! 

Strike your harps, ye saints on high ! 
With your anthems fill the sky ! 

140 



Hymn to Summer. 

Ye who sang "a Saviour born", 
Hail His resurrection morn ! 
Jesus lives the world to save : 
Where thy triumph, boasting grave? 
Death is vanquished, bound in chains ; 
Christ, our Lord, forever reigns ! 

On this bright and glorious day, 
When the faithful meet to pray, 
Bring the Easter lilies fair, 
Nature's gems of beauty rare. 
Let the organ's lofty strain 
Thrill our raptured souls again ; 
Christ hath risen from the tomb, 
Clothed in Heav'n's immortal bloom ! 



HYMN TO SUMMER. 

O summer, lovely summer, 

We hail thy golden hours. 
And welcome back the sunshine 

That wakes thy dewy flowers; 
The queenly rose and Uly 

Adorn each rural spot, 
And greet their gentle sister, 

The sweet forget-me-not. 

The fields are white with daisies. 
The hills are green and fair ; 

The merry birds are singing — 
There's music everywhere. 

The brook and sparkling fountain 
Have caught the tuneful strain, 



141 



Fanny Crosbys Life-Story. 

While echoes from the forest 
Ring out their glad refrain. 

O summer, lovely summer, 

In all thy bright array. 
New hopes and joys unfolding 

With each returning day ! 
The promised tune of harvest 

Thy coming soon will bring; 
And o'er the sheaves he gathers, 

The reaper's heart will sing! 



HARVEST HYMN. 

Air, "I Shall See the King in His Beauty.'' 

All hail to the days that are coming, 

How lovely the blue ether sky; 
The fields in their beauty are smiling, 

The harvest already is nigh. 
The voice of the brook and the fountain, 

The song of the bird and the bee. 
Their carol in harmony blending. 

Are happy as happy can be. 

Lo, yonder the queen of the harvest 

Comes forth as the toilers appear, 
And waving her chaplet of lilies 

She greets them with mirth and good cheer, 
Now thrust in your sickles, ye reapers. 

And gather the ripe golden grain; 
The Lord has rewarded your labor, 

And crowned it with plenty again. 

142 



Ode to Thanksgiving. 

The seed that you scattered in springtime 

Grew up with the fruits and the flowers, 
Refreshed with the joy-laden zephyrs 

The sunshine, the dew, and the showers. 
And oh, when the sheaves you have garnered. 

Be mindful His love to recall, 
And praise with your highest devotion 

The bountiful giver of all ! 

O land, by the God of our fathers. 

Protected, exalted, and blest, 
O nation, where Freedom has planted 

The banner of peace and of rest, 
Give thanks for a plentiful harvest, 

His name and His mercy revere. 
Who prospers the hand of the toiler. 

And crowns with his goodness the year 



ODE TO THANKSGIVING. 

Air, "America." 

Anthems to God above, 
Source of eternal love. 

Now let us sing ! 
Praise our Creator's name, 
Come as our Fathers came: 
Hail and with loud acclaim 

Our Lord and King! 

Thanks for our favored land. 
By His Almighty hand 
Guarded from ill! 



143 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Thanks for the dew and rain, 
Broad field and sunny plain 
Where stores of fruit and grain 
Our garners fill ! 

Thanks for our banner bright, 
Spangled with starry light, 

Boast of the free — 
Signal to those oppressed, 
Honored, revered, and blest, 
Waving its noble crest 

O'er land and sea ! 

Lord, from thy throne on high 
Bend thy approving eye 

O'er us, we pray! 
This be our one desire : 
Faith, love, and zeal inspire ; 
Light with devotion's fire 

Our souls today ! 



CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

Air, ''Portuguese Hymn" 

Fulfilled is the promise, a Saviour is born : 
With loud acclamation we hallow the morn ! 
To God in the highest all glory we sing. 
And welcome the advent of Jesus, our King! 

We come like the shepherds who knelt at His 
feet; 

144 



Evening Time. 

We come like the wise men our monarch to 

greet. 
Our faith-star unclouded shines bright on our 

way, 
And leads to the manger where cradled He lay. 

Good-will from our Father and peace unto 

men : 
Oh, wonderful chorus ! we hear it again. 
In grandeur and. beauty still rolling along; 
While valley and mountain break forth into 

song ! 

O blessed Redeemer, by prophets foretold ! 
We herald the story that never grows old. 
Our heart's adoration before Him we bring, 
And joyful hosannas to Jesus, our King! 

We come with the faithful who gather today 
In grateful devotion our tribute to pay ; 
We come with the children our carols to sing, 
And shout hallelujah to Jesus, our King! 



EVENING TIME. 

Melody, "Sweet Hour of Prayer." 

At evening time, sweet evening time. 
When memory-bells in tuneful chime 
Awake the joys to which we clung. 
When days were bright and Hfe was young, 
'Tis then the voice of one we love, 

145 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

Whose spirit dwells in realms above, 
In thought repeats from yonder clime 
The prayers she taught at evening time, 

'Tis wafted on the fragrant breeze, 
That simple prayer whose words were these 
"And now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep." 
A mother's form, a mother's face, 
Her tender look and gentle grace, 
With memory-bells that softly chime, 
Come back to us at evening time. 

They come like balm and lull to rest 
The aching brow and throbbing breast ; 
We feel her arms around us thrown. 
And how her love is still our own. 
Ah, soon we'll gladly clasp her hand 
Amid the flowers of Eden land. 
Where memory-bells forever chime 
Beyond the shades of evening time ! 



FROM STAR TO STAR. 

Melody, " Autumn. '^ 

There are voices — happy voices — 
And our hearts with joy they fill. 

When our faith is looking upward, 
And the busy world is still : 

How we listen to their music 
From our Father's home afar, 



146 



Trusting 



^' 



Where on Love's eternal mission, 
We shall roam from star to star ! 

There are voices — gentle voices — 

And we hear them in a dream, 
Like the carol of a birdling 

Or the murmtir of a stream : 
And they draw our spirits nearer 

To the pearly gates afar. 
Where among the just made perfect, 

We shall roam from star to star ! 

There are voices — kindred voices — 

And they call from yonder shore 
Where our golden harps will waken 

Songs we never knew before : 
Oh, the rapture that awaits us 

In the glory-land afar 
Where together and forever 

We shall roam from star to star ! 



TRUSTING. 

Air, "Day and Night thy Lambs Are Crying. 

I am trusting, O my Saviour ! 

I am trusting only thee ; 
I have proved thy gracious promise — 

As my day my strength shall be. 
I am trusting, O my Saviour ! 

Though my path I may not know; 
When thou callest, I will answer ; 

Where thou leadest, I will go. 

147 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

I am trusting, O my Saviour! 

And my hand is firm in thine ; 
Though the clouds may sometimes gather, 

Still I see thy glory shine. 
And 1 look beyond the shadows 

To the sunny fields of rest. 
And I catch the glad hosannas 

Of the faithful and the blest. 

1 am trusting, O my Saviour! 

I am trusting day by day ; 
Holy angels guard my footsteps. 

And I cannot lose my way. 
For thy spirit hovers o'er me. 

Like a pure and gentle dove; 
And in all my cares and sorrows, 

I can hear His voice of love. 

Like the early dews of morning, 

How thy precious gifts descend ! 
And I know that thou art with me 

And will keep me to the end. 
In thy secret place abiding, 

Oh the joy thy presence brings ! 
I am covered with thy feathers — 

I am safe beneath thy wings ! 



TO THE RESCUE. 

Air, "All the Way My Saviour Leads Me. 

Oh, the sad and troubled faces 

That we meet from day to day, 
And the hearts that break in silence 

148 



God^s Light of Promise. 

As they plod their dreary way ! 
Can we pass them by unheeded ; 

Can we leave them still alone, 
When 'tis ours to scatter roses 

Where relentless thorns are strown? 

With an earnest prayerful spirit, 

In the name of Christ our Lord, 
Let us ask if we are living 

As He taught us in His word. 
Have we fed the poor and clothed them 

As the Saviour gave command ? 
To reclaim an erring brother 

Have we lent a helping hand ? 

Oh, the homes that we may comfort. 

Homes where want and sorrow dwell ! 
If unfaithful to the Master, 

Can we say with us 'tis well ? 
To the rescue let us hasten, 

Ere the warning sun goes down : 
Lest our work be left unfinished. 

And another take our crown ! 



GOD S LIGHT OF PROMISE. 

Air, 'Webb." 

Rejoice, rejoice, O pilgrim ! 

Lift up thine eyes and see 
Above the mist and shadows 

A light that shines for thee ! 
'Tis God's own light of Promise- 

His smile of perfect peace : 



149 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

And soon with Him forever 
ihy weary march will cease. 

Rejoice, rejoice, O pilgrim, 

And hail the blessed light. 
Whose radiant beams are leading 

Beyond the veil of night ! 
Let love thy soul inspiring 

Thy faith and hope increase 
Till safe among the ransomed 

Thy weary march shall cease ! 

Rejoice, rejoice, O pilgrim : 

The Master's work fulfil ! 
The light that cheers thy pathway 

Is growing brighter still ! 
Press onward, O press onward 

To realms of perfect peace, 
When in thy Father's kingdom 

Thv wearv march shall cease ! 



THERE ARE MOMENTS. 

Tune, ''Shall We Know Each Other There?'' 

There are moments — blessed moments — 

That in spirit we recall ; 
There are seasons of refreshing — 

Oh how precious to us all ! 
When we feel the sacred presence 

Of our great High Priest and King, 
And as if by inspiration 

Of His wondrous love we sing! 

150 



There Are Moments. 

There are moments — blessed moments- 

When a radiance from the skies 
Seems to burst in all its glory 

On our faith-illumined eyes ; 
And we hear a voice proclaiming, 

While in song our voices blend, 
'T am Alpha and Omega, 

The beginning and the end." 

There are moments — blessed moments- 

When such perfect joy we see. 
That we stand upon the threshold 

Of a life that soon shall be ; 
And again the Master speaketh 

While in silent prayer we blend : 
He again confirms the promise, 

"I am with vou to the end !" 



151 



CHAPTER XXVIL— 1903. 

A POEM BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 

WHILE this book was in preparation, 
its publishers wrote, without my 
previous knowledge, to my dear 
friend Mrs. Sangster, for a poem to 
appear in its pages. I understand that within 
a few hours the gifted poet had written and 
mailed the following lines, which, as in the 
previous cases in this book, I include with no 
other feeling than thankfulness for the kind 
and partial friends that God has raised up 
around me: 

The dear Lord has kept her close to Him, 

In a little curtained space 
That never is wholly dusk or dim. 

Because of His shining face ; 
Though we are afraid of the brooding dark 

It cannot be so to her. 
For the Lord Himself has made an ark 

For His loving worshipper. 

There are things of earth that she cannot see. 

Except with her spirit's eyes ; 
The light in the blossom-perfumed tree, 

The stars in the still night-skies ; 

152 



Poem by Margaret E. Sangster. 

But never imagine she has not known 

Far fairer sights than ours ! 
The hem of His garment round her thrown 

Is broidered with fadeless flowers. 

She smiles the smile of a happy child, 

Her voice as the child's is sweet, 
She has followed so safe through wood and 
wild. 

The print of her Saviour's feet. 
Her ear, attuned to the finest chord. 

Has caught the songs of heaven ; 
She has taught us all how to praise her Lord 

For the grace of sins forgiven. 

Her song has bubbled with notes of joy, 

Has risen in faith so strong, 
It has reached the height where the whole em- 
ploy 

Is praise, where the ransomed throng. 
And year by year as the sifted snow 

Of age on her head is white, 
She has been as a child of the long ago. 

In her dear Lord's loving sight. 

Why call her blind, who can see so well 

The hidden things and clear: 
Who knows so much that she may not tell. 

Of the land that's drawing near? 
The pure in heart, our Saviour said, 

And the word is true for aye, 
Though drifting centuries on have sped, 

Since He went to His home on high, 

153 



Fanny Crosby^s Life-Story. 

The pure in heart shall see, ah ! yes, 

They shall see the face of Him 
Who dwells forever in ceaseless bHss 

Between the cherubim. 
Of her we love, this wondrous word 

Is true in very deed. 
Tis the si^ht of her own, her loving Lord, 

In her sightless eyes we read. 

God bless her ever! we hft the prayer — 

Our hearts would hold her, fain 
To guard her now from the weight of care, 

To shield her life from pain. 
And when at last an angel comes 

To lead her in to the King, 
God give her a place in the best of homes 

Where the choiring angels sing ! 

May the thin veil drop from the gentle eyes, 

And by the King's own grace 
When she sees Him, clear, with no surprise, 

May she have a sheltered place 
In a little corner white and fair, 

And very near His feet : 
And never a voice 'mid the voices there, 

Shall ring more true and sweet ! 



154 



CPIAPTER XXVIIL— 1903- 

LIVING AND LEARNING STILL— THINGS ''tHEN" 
AND NOW— FIRST RAILROADS— FIRST TELE- 
GRAPH-WIRE TELEPHONES NEWSPAPERS — 

THE MANY OTHER IMPROVEMENTS AND IN- 
VENTIONS A LIFE OF JOY AND SUNSHINE 

CONTINUALLY MEETING OLD FRIENDS RESI- 
DENCE IN BROOKLYN REMOVAL TO BRIDGE- 
PORT — "as young as we feel" — NO "in- 
firmities OF age" HOPE TO BE A CEN- 
TENARIAN WILLING TO GO, WHEN THE LORD 

CALLS. 

LIVING and learning still, in this year of 
our Lord, 1903, I have again and 
again to repeat the words that were 
flashed over the wires in the very 
first telegram ever sent: "What hath God 
wrought !" 

At the time I made my little excursion down 
the Hudson River (narrated in a preceding 
chapter), in search of physical light, there was 
not a single locomotive in this country, and 
no immediate prospect that there would ever 
be any. There was just one little railroad, 
four miles long: and that ran from Quincy, 
Mass., to the ocean, and its cars were used for 
the purpose of transporting granite from the 
quarries to a landing, where it could be placed 

155 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

upon ships, which should carry it to different 
parts of the world. 

It was not until 1827, when I was seven 
years old, that news went through the country, 
of two men having been sent to England, to 
buy some locomotives ! They were not verv 
"flush" with them, over there : but these mes- 
sengers from the Western Republic succeeded 
in getting three of the desired articles, for 
use on the Delaware and Hudson Railroad. 

And what queer little creatures they were, 
as we remember the descriptions of them, and 
compare them with what now exists ! — al- 
though they probablv looked very large and 
imposing, to people who had never seen any- 
thing greater than wagons and carriages. No 
doubt many of the automobiles of today are 
larger and stronger than were those locomo- 
tives, which had only four wheels apiece, and 
were small in proportion. 

But these were, so to speak, the progeni- 
tors of others : a flock of them soon appeared. 
In 1830, when I was ten years old, news came 
that Peter Cooper, afterwards famous for the 
founding of the Cooper Institute, in New York 
City, had really built an engine of his own, at 
Baltimore, instead of sending to England for 
it. 

He soon took the famous trip from Albany 
to Schenectady and back, on what is now a 
part of the great New York Central and Hud- 
son River system : and a great contrast that 
little outfit (so well known by pictures of it^ 
would be, to the swift and heavy express- 

156 



Railroads — Telegraphs — Telephones. 

trains that now rush along those tracks ! 
"What hath God wrought!'' 

There are now, probabl}-, over a hundred 
thousand miles of railway in this country, and 
considerably more than twenty thousand loco- 
motives. It is something to have lived long 
enough to witness all this change and growth ! 

When I first went to school, in New York, 
and for many years afterward, there was no 
way of communicating with my friends at 
home, excepting by the mail-coach or by pri- 
vate messenger : and that took a long and tedi- 
ous time, compared to present methods and 
facilities. Often, when friends and relatives 
lived at some distance from each other, one 
would be dead and buried before the other 
even knew that anything was amiss. 

As railroads multiplied, the means for dis- 
seminating news became better and better: 
but it was not until 1844, that the first tele- 
graphic message was sent. 

What changes have taken place since, in 
that respect ! Now we can send long commu- 
nications in a few seconds, almost anywhere 
in the civilized world ; now we can even throw 
our voices, through the wonderful ventrilo- 
quism of the telephone, hundreds and evr 
thousands of miles ; now people upon ships 
are communicating with each other and with 
people on the shore, by means of wireless tele- 
graphy, all the way across the ocean. 

Not only can intelligence be communicated 
to and fro with astonishing quickness, but the 
great events of the preceding day are spread 

157 



Fanny Crosby^ s Life-Story. 

before the people, as soon as they are up in 
the morning. Everybody that can read, has 
this luxury — from the millionaire in his man- 
sion, to the workman going to his early morn- 
ing task. "What hath God wrought!" 

Thousands of other improvements I might 
mention — the absence and the beginnings of 
which, I can well recollect. The drawing- 
room car, the sleeping-car, the air-brake (by 
which many lives have been saved), the phono- 
graph, the moving picture, the bicycle,^ the 
typewriter, the X-ray, the elevator, the sew- 
ing-machine, the parlor- and safety-match, 
anaesthetics, the reaper and mower, the sub- 
marine boat, the type-setting machine (with 
which this very book is ''set up") — all these, 
and many others, have been invented within 
the span of my lifetime. 

During the past ten years, and up to the 
present time, my life has continued to be, for 
the most part, one of joy and sunshine. I do 
not write quite so much as in other days, but 
have not by any means laid my pen asid^^ 
From the vantage-ground of eighty-three 
years, I look back upon fair and peaceful val- 
leys, plains, and hillsides, covered by flowers, 
interspersed with only now and then a thorn. 

My health continues, as has been almost 
constantly the case for many years, good and 
sound ; my spirits are every bit as light and 
gay as during my girlhood; my enjoyment of 
all the blessings of life, is more full and intense 
than ever. 

Among my audiences at various places, 

158 



Pleasant Days. 

during lecture-trips, I am continually meet- 
ing old acquaintances, who recall former 
scenes, and enable me to live them over again. 
I also meet many new friends, who profess 
themselves to have been for many years drawn 
toward me by my hymns. 

Many words of love and appreciation are 
constantly falling upon my ears ; and I feel that 
it is truly the Lord's hand that leads me. 

It has been my privilege to visit the North- 
field Convention, that famous institution 
founded by the late D. L. Moody, for several 
years in succession ; I often attend other sum- 
mer conventions of the kind. In these, I am 
enabled to address large audiences, who al- 
ways listen to my humble words with close and 
respectful attention. 

It is an addition to the pleasure of these oc- 
casions, that I am thus enabled to hear some 
of the best orators and musicians that the 
world affords ; and keep pace, as well as my 
poor abilities are able, with the thought and 
feeling of the centuries. 

I had for many years lived in Brooklyn, which 
I found a very pleasant locality, and where I 
have many dear and treasured friends, whom 
I still visit from time to time ; but three years 
ago it was considered best for my health that 
I remove to Bridgeport, Conn., and make my 
home with a widowed sister, who has been a 
lifelong resident of that city. I find that the 
change has been decidedly beneficial. 

A great deal has often been said about *'the 
infirmities of age", and ''the decline of life" ; 

159 



Fanny Crosby's Life-Story. 

but I believe that we are really "as young as 
we feel", and that while I continue to do good 
for the sake of it and for the love of it, the 
sunshine of hope and gladness will ever attend 
my footsteps. 

I believe myself still really in the prime of 
life : ready to take up any duty that suggests 
itself, and to do it with my utmost strength. 
I do not at this age feel any more fatigue from 
my frequent journeys and efforts before audi- 
ences, than I did thirty years ago. My work 
grows sweeter and grander to me each day ; 
and I believe the public, in buying large num- 
bers of this my Life-Storv, will show that it 
means to encourage and sustain me in it. 

I am often asked, "How long do you 
expect to live?" This question, of course, T 
cannot accurately answer: but am willing to 
stay as long as the good Lord has any work 
for me to do; and have "set the mark" at 
one hundred and three — the age at which my 
grandmother died — my motner living to be 
over ninety. My ancestors were Puri- 
tans ; my family tree is roo ^ ^ around Ply- 
mouth Rock ; all my predecessors of lineage 
died at a good old age. Whenever the Lord 
calls me, I am willing to go ; but if He chooses 
to leave me here until the above-mentioned 
time, or even longer, I shall continue to gather 
sheaves till the sun goes down, and to sing and 
write hymns to His praise. 



THE END. 



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